


Until We Rise

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 2nd Age - Pre-Rings, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2003-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Embodied to Return

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Disclaimer: Tolkien Estate owns the rights to these characters and settings. There are original characters as well. This is part of an AU, and as such, does not necessarily follow "canon", but what fanfic by it's very nature can? It's not perfect, in fact it's far from it. I welcome any comments/criticism.

~*~*~

 

Heat. Scalding, burning, penetrating heat so fierce it roared in his ears. In his blood. Quickening the very air he breathed to scorch his lungs, parch the moisture from his skin. Withering his sharp gaze with the stinging needles of flame.

Darkness. So profound, so complete as it writhed around him, seeking to consume all his light. All that he was. Corrupting his form and substance. Trying to corrupt the purity of an Elven soul.

Fear. Oh yes, even great warriors would recoil at the sight of such a foe. Even a warrior such as he, one whom others looked to for guidance, for leadership. And still, fear ate at him, widened his eyes, trembled his hand.

Fire. In his soul. In his heart. Burning rage against this foul creature that had been sent against them. A creature that sought death and destruction. Wanted nothing more than to see every one of them on that mountain trail dead.

Their city fallen. Their people fled, dying, wounded.

These few survivors wanting only to live to see another, brighter day.

A twisted creature, once created for good, now corrupted to evil, threatening those he protected.

No. NO! It roared in his heart, in his soul, in his mind louder than any cry of the great beast before him.

Ebony fire beating against him, seeking to crush him with every step he took. Casting one look back to see the others fleeing, Glorfindel, Chief of the House of the Golden Flower raised his sword, chanting words of bright defiance to the darkness that advanced on him. Terrible power full of evil glory in the towering dark creature that unfurled its wings and raised its own sword of flame to strike him down.

Glorfindel chanted louder, the words coming from he knew not where, pushing back the flames that sought to devour him, lending his arm strength as the fiery sword swept down to cleave him and instead was met with a flash of bright power. He pushed the flaming sword away and used the creature’s surprised moment of hesitation to rush forward, bright defiance of his cry piercing the darkness of the creature’s breast even as he plunged his sword forward.

Into heat.

Melting him. The smell of his hair burning, the agony of flesh and muscle melting to bone.

And still he pushed forward, driven beyond his agony and strength to end this here and now.

They were falling.

Tumbling down, darkness, then the white of snow through the red of his scorched eyes. Air singing in his charred ears as the sudden cold assaulted raw nerves now bare to the elements.

He stretched out his arms, fingers seeking to touch something; anything.

Nothing but a great blur of fog as if some great mist had fallen upon him.

Flying.

Soaring as his soul and spirit parted from the husk of his burned, battered body, watching as if from a great distance as his body fell. As the Balrog fell. Both hitting the soil of Arda with the finality of certain stillness.

And did not move again.

He ascended, pulled so rapidly that the scene was soon but a speck, then gone as the mist obscured his vision and dropped him into oblivion.

~*~*~

Water. Waves lapping against the shore. Sharp tang of salt water so strong it almost teared the eyes.

First awakening all over again.

No stars this time.

Clear blue sky, reaching up as far as keen elven eyes could see.

Waking as if from reverie, the elf sat up to look around in dazed wonder.

Sand, sand and water as far as he could see in either direction. Before him the endless stretch of the ocean reaching to the horizon.

A cool breeze blew against him and it came to his bemused mind that something was different; that the breeze was touching all of him. Small thing that. Lifting his hand to stare at it in wonder. This now…this was the miraculous.

Flesh that had been blackened, charred… Now wonderfully and frighteningly, perfectly pale. He could see the veins pulsing with blood beneath the surface and almost laughed it was so amazing.

Arms. Not bulky in muscle, but lithe; muscle fitted cunningly to bone as to make movement and strength seem effortless.

Or not. He felt his legs tremble as he sought to stand, having to relearn balance; something so familiar it was as natural as…

Drawing air in and out. Freely. No hitches of burnt tissue, no wheezing or gasping here.

Setting a foot where he thought it ought to be, inching up to position the other leg beneath him, he stopped, poised to rise. Yes, this was the way. The sureness of it encouraged him and slowly, he rose, glorying in the stretch of muscle and flesh.

Now standing, looking down at the body that was at once both familiar and not.

Raised a hand to touch his face. His eyes, whole and healthy. Nose, not bloodied and crooked. High, sculpted cheekbones taunt over unblemished flesh. Lightly touched his lips with fingertips, shivering at the sensation, trailing them down the throat to his chest.

Felt the steady, sure beating of his heart, almost in time with the waves. Felt the muscle under the skin. The light that glowed inside, radiating out like the warmth his body shed. Slid the hand down across lightly chiseled muscles of his abdomen, down a flank.

Repeated the tactile exploration with the other hand.

Sensation of touch new again. Closed his eyes as one hand fell to his groin, amazed and delighted anew at the sensation of pleasure touch provided.

Alive.

Laughing in sheer delight and wonder, he took a staggering step forward. Then another, and another, until movement was easier. Staggered to the water and waded in, meeting the rush of the waves with cries of delight, letting the ocean drench him. Wash over him and through him.

It slicked his hair and he shivered at the sensation of it dripping down his back, blinking moisture off his eyelashes.

He played in the water until he tired and walked up the shore to where a large rock crouched in the sand. Its flat surface was warm and he sat, letting the warmth creep through his limbs. Draped his arms around bent knees, resting his chin on a knee, to stare out at the ocean.

Alive.

Living again.

What could it mean?

~*~*~

They found him sitting on the same rock. Watching with keen sapphire blue eyes as they rode nearer. Wondered at their surprised expressions, then remembered, memory sparked by their raiment.

Naked. Yes, that was what he was. Unclothed.

It didn’t trouble him, so he sat with the uncanny stillness of his race and simply watched them ride closer, golden blonde hair rippling in the breeze around his shoulders and down his back.

He must have looked fey sitting there, the rosy golden light of sunset gilding his skin and hair, blue gaze sharp and bright. Watching them with the alert interest of a king gazing at the approach of retainers. His mouth curved into a slight smile as they stopped several metres from his rock.

“Noldor.” He spoke it as the name came into his mind, called forth by their dark hair and blue-grey eyes. A memory of a people misty in his mind, but one that drew him powerfully.

The riders looked at each other then turned to him again. The one with a more rounded face and regal bearing bowed his head slightly. “Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, Vanya.”

It was a lyrical thing, the words that came forth, but his mind made no sense of it, and he shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“Perhaps Sindarin?” The other murmured.

More words, sounding a bit different, but still making no sense.

Finally the first one to speak dismounted and walked slowly forward. He put a hand to his chest. “Quendi.” Pushed dark hair back, indicating the curved shape of his ear, then pointing towards the solitary figure on the rock. “Elf.”

For some reason it struck him as funny, and he tossed his head back, letting his laugh peel out loud like a bell ringing.

“Well, that was some sort of response,” the other said with a wry smile. “What do you suppose he’s doing here like this?”

“Shipwrecked perhaps, though he has not the looks of Círdan’s folk.” The one on foot shook his head. “No, he does not appear wounded at all.” Regarding the fair elf he shook his head again. “He looks Vanyar, though…they left these shores long ago.”

“We cannot leave him here, unclothed and as simple as a babe.”

“No.” He sighed. “You’re right, Elrond. But how will we convince him, hmm?” He turned to slant a grin at his companion, but whirled abruptly as he sensed movement.

The elf on the rock stretched, reaching up with his arms, before lithely climbing down to stand before the others.

“He seems to have some understanding,” Elrond commented wryly. One of his eyebrows arched as the blonde stood before them, utterly unselfconscious of his nudity. “Perhaps you should lend him my cloak, milord?” He unclasped the garment and held it out to the other. “An unclad elf would, no doubt, attract a fair amount of attention even amongst Círdan’s people.”

Gil-galad chuckled at the comment, taking the cloak. “I shall never understand your-“ He stopped as the other elf stepped past him to stand before Elrond. “What’s this…”

“Círdan.”

Elrond Half-Elven found himself under the intense scrutiny of the stranger whose eyes mirrored the blue of the deepest sky. “Do you know Círdan?” It was impossible to guess the age of the one before him. Once an elf attained a century only cares and battle would put any telling marks upon their visages. Age would never be clear by looks alone. There was something hauntingly ancient in the eyes of this one, though just a moment before there had been only the innocence of a child.

“Círdan.” Something passed behind the sapphire eyes, like a cloud over the sun, and was gone. He blinked and raised a hand to Elrond’s horse. The creature snuffled at him curiously before submitting to having the flat between his eyes scratched.

“I fear we’ll get little else.” Gil-galad draped the cloak around the stranger, who didn’t even look up from his attentions to the horse, even when the dark-haired elf leaned in to close the clasp. “Come my friend.” He touched the blonde’s arm, gesturing for him to follow. “Walk with us and we will bring you to Mithlond. You will be welcome to stay with us.”

Elrond nodded as the blonde looked to him as if for confirmation.

With a last finger-combing of the horse’s forelock, the blonde cast another look at the sea then followed.

~*~*~

“Círdan would have to be out on one of his blasted boats.”

“Ships,” Elrond murmured. He arched a dark brow as Gil-galad frowned at him. “They said he’d be back in a fortnight.”

“Two bloody weeks…” The Elf King paced to the window and sighed as he looked out. “Perhaps someone else will spark a response in him. Another of the older elves?”

“Celeborn is here.” Elrond pursed his lips, considering the other elf’s colouring. “Galadriel as well.”

Gil-galad nodded. “See if you can bring them here. We need to discover who our guest is, Elrond. There is something about him that tells me he is no lost wanderer.”

With a nod to indicate he heard, Elrond swept out of the room to find the other Eldar.

~*~*~

He was fairly certain he had never been there. Looking around him nothing was really…familiar. Nothing called to him.

Walking around the chambers he had been shown to, feeling the odd brush and pull of clothing over his skin, he touched items as he came upon them.

Book. He opened it and stared at the curling, flowing letters on the page. Tantalizingly familiar, they coalesced into nothing more than beautiful shapes. He traced a finger over the words, frowning as the whispers that had been in the back of his mind since the two dark-haired elves had found him grew louder.

Shaking his head he closed the book, stalking over to gaze out the window. There was a restlessness growing inside of him that he did not understand. Was it merely from being taken from outside and put here in this enclosed place?

No, not completely, though he missed the breeze and the sun warming his skin. He had dwelt so long in the darkness…

Where had that come from? What darkness?

Consuming. Enveloping. It had swallowed him and held him there.

With a start, he looked around.

Why was he in this place? Where? Who was he?

That was the gnawing sense of unease – the feeling that he should know the answers to these questions.

He should know who he was.

It was important.

Something grew in his mind, bringing a burgeoning light, and he turned to face the entry before he even heard light footfalls that spoke of elves coming to him.

He leaned back against the window sill, eyes widening as if an animal hunted and cornered.

She entered. The light gleamed within and around, dimming even that of the others accompanying her. Long, flowing hair, the colour of spun gold. Pale skin. Tipped ears. Light blue eyes that alighted on him with an intensely piercing gaze

He straightened, eyes narrowed, brushing off the mental touch as easily as lint off a sleeve. A word came to him, unbidden, and he spit it out, fully aware of what and why. “Kinslayer!”

The elves accompanying the golden lady recoiled as if slapped, staring at him in shock. All but one who watched from behind the others, a dark brow winging upwards as he watched the strange elf confront one of the eldest among them. It was no idle insult the other threw at the lady. He looked to know exactly what he was about, and seemed not a wit intimidated by the lady’s presence.

Or of those with her.

“You speak hastily, stranger.” Celeborn looked as if he would take umbrage at what the other called his wife. His strange silver-blue eyes gleamed in contained annoyance.

The fair elf raised his chin, suddenly appearing as haughty as any of the High Elves of old. Long hair fell loosely around his shoulders, gleaming a deep, burnished gold, as if lit with an inner fire.

The power around the three elves fairly crackled throughout the room, creating a sense not unlike that of lightning about to be called down to strike.

The lady raised a hand to her husband’s chest, her gaze chillingly distant as she gazed at the other elf. “Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower.” The smile she offered was not warm or welcoming. “I did not expect to see you again this side of Enndore.”

“Glorfindel?” Gil-galad stepped forward, intentionally stepping between the three who seemed intent on glaring the other to Mandos' Halls. “Of Gondolin?” The Noldor King looked to Galadriel. “But he perished battling the Balrog.”

Galadriel made no answer, for indeed, she had none to offer.

And that, above all, vexed her.

She had not foreseen this. Had not ever expected to set eyes upon her distant cousin. They did have shared blood -- cousins, both descendants of the House of Finarfin. But where her hair was the gold of wheat sheaves, his was the burnished gold of the Vanyar that almost seemed to capture the sun's glow. His eyes the vivid blue of his father's folk, sometimes almost shading to violet.

Both exceedingly fair. Eldar of the purest blood.

But Glorfindel had never agreed with his Noldor cousins. Had, instead, stayed apart from them, preferring the company of his Vanyan kin.

Had ever held himself as better than she.

Had been glorified in song and story when he had perished killing the Balrog. Galadriel had thought never to see him again, for she was banned from ever entering Valinor.

And he…

He had returned from there.

“Tell us, cousin…” The word was a subtle slight with her intonation, but he gave no acknowledgement that he caught the insult. “Whyfor wert thou returned from Mandos’ Halls?”

If he understood, nothing showed in his countenance. Crossing his arms and leaning back against the windowsill, a small smile curving his mouth, his gaze never wavered from Galadriel.

Elrond shook his head as Gil-galad looked to him for some suggestion. They would get nothing further from the newly arrived elf. Whether because he could not speak as of yet, or would not, Elrond could not tell.

He recognized the air of immovable finality in that gaze that would never be budged.

It was what convinced him, beyond Galadriel’s claim, that this was truly Glorfindel of Gondolin come back to Enndore. Surely this must have been the look on his face as he turned to face the foe following his charges, maybe even yet unknowing precisely what followed, but determined to see it eliminated.

Elrond hid a smile as Galadriel made an aggrieved noise and whirled in a flurry of white gown. She strode regally from the room, followed by her husband.

At the entry Celeborn paused to turn and regard the stranger with a warily curious expression, holding his gaze before turning to leave.

Gil-galad sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “That did not go well.” He turned his regard to the silent elf. “You have alienated yourself from a two powerful allies today, my friend.” Receiving no answer other than a rather wry smile, the king turned to address his herald. “See if you can get him to talk, Elrond. I have Galadriel and Celeborn to placate. Though that all-seeing attitude of hers annoys at times, they are friends.” With a last rather glum look for the blonde elf, Gil-galad strode out of the room.

Leaving the mystery to Elrond.

~*~*~


	2. Acclimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

He ate. Sparingly, neatly, not wasting a drop of the fruit. Not like one starving, but most definitely with the appreciation of one long denied such pleasures.

Elrond had to smile as he watch the eyelids flutter shut, body holding to utter stillness that bespoke of deep appreciation.

Well, he hadn’t thought the peaches this year that good yet, but apparently their guest didn’t agree with his assessment.

Then again…if this truly was Glorfindel of Gondolin, he had long been denied such pleasures of the senses while abiding in Mandos’ Halls. Returning to a body, to Elven senses, must be almost overwhelming.

“I wonder if that is why you have not spoken as yet,” Elrond mused aloud.

The sapphire eyes opened to regard him with as much intensity as had just been granted the peach.

It was a bit overwhelming, but Elrond had long grown used to the regard of the powerful and the curious. His life had been anything but normal and had provided many with endless subjects of discussion.

This one though… Elrond had to smile as he sat back and watched the man seated across from him take another bite of peach. He was an odd mixture of intense, powerful and childish innocence. The latter, he suspected, would disappear when the elf regained his memories.

“Do all who return from Mandos’ care do so without memory?” He spoke his thoughts aloud then tried to recall any others who had returned as this one had.

Beren and Lúthien were the only ones who readily came to mind.

It intrigued Elrond. As a Lore Master he was intensely curious about the whys are wherefores of history. Now seated before him was a mystery cloaked in flesh and blood. A mystery who had already walked Enndore once. Had he looked the same as now? Galadriel had recognized him, but had it been the core fea of the elf that she saw or the outward appearance?

Impossible to guess or to know.

Elrond looked up as the elf across from him stood. For a moment it seemed as though he would speak. A frustrated frown gathered the blonde’s brows together and he turned, walking towards the entry that led outside to a garden. Standing, Elrond followed.

Night was falling again, dusk giving way to darkness as the stars began to appear.

The blonde walked out into the center of the garden and stopped, looking upwards with a longing so intense Elrond could almost feel it where he stood. Feel it, yes, understand no. He walked slowly towards the other, stopping at his side.

From the harbour the sound of an Elven voice rose in song, and the longing was suddenly clear to Elrond as a pained expression crossed the other’s face.

Of course. He must have stood before the Valar, before the Máhanaxar, to be judged worthy to be returned. Elrond himself had been there, faced the ring of Valar as his choice was made to become one of the firstborn. Had seen the glory and beauty of the Valar as must have this one.

But time had passed, and the glory of that encounter, though not forgotten, had dimmed somewhat.

For Glorfindel, however, it was fresh. New. The longing was practically bursting from him to voice his feelings. His longings.

Closing his eyes, Elrond sifted back to the memories of that time, not really so long ago. Called them forward and slowly raised his eyes to the stars.

To Elbereth.

The song was soft at first, quiet as dawn slowly breaking over Arda, gaining volume as the words and emotions came forth and poured out of him.

Glorfindel turned to stare at him, eyes wide for a moment. A smile wreathed his face and he dropped to the ground, falling back in a graceful sprawl to gaze lovingly up at the stars.

Elrond sang as he had not sang in many sun ‘rounds. Sang of longing and loving, of those lost and remembered forever in the minds of the elves who did not die.

He sat next to the golden elf and sang song after song, sensing the other’s soul rising with his as his voice rose to the stars.

Beneath the stars and the trees, Elrond Half-Elven found a measure of peace he had not felt for many years permeate his mind. Soul freed, he soared in song, joining in the other elven voices that rose around them in homage, in memory, and love.

~*~*~

“Has he said anything else?”

Elrond shook his head, brushing his dark hair behind his ear. “No. Nothing since …”

“Galadriel.” Gil-galad sighed in frustration. He sat and toyed with a jeweled dagger, staring broodingly at his herald and trusted advisor. “Why would the Valar send him back, Elrond? They do nothing by chance or whim. It vexes me that he cannot remember enough to even speak when his arrival here may bode for something portentous!”

Elrond nodded, dark eyes thoughtful. “We could speculate for days on why he is here now, my lord, and never reach a conclusion. I feel we must abide and wait to see what happens.”

Gil-galad grimaced. “There is nothing physically ailing him?”

“No.”

The elven king’s grunt was eloquent of his feelings. “What if we tried to jog his memory? Is there a way to do so?”

Elrond shrugged lightly. “I cannot say what might recall his previous life to him, Gil-galad. Perhaps doing things that he would have done on an ordinary day in Gondolin…though I cannot even say what those would have been.”

Snorting, Gil-galad stood, tossing down the dagger. “I dare not even tell anyone else that he is here, seeing that it would cause a stir.”

The confession made Elrond smile. His king was proud as any Noldor, and impatient, but both were tempered with a wisdom and a deep, abiding care for his people. Gil-galad was never one to trumpet his own glory but he was proud of the kingdom he ruled. Proud of his accomplishments. The possibility of having an elf such as Glorfindel, sung of for bravery and honour, in his own court, and yet unable to share the knowledge of such a thing was an annoyance to him.

With a sigh, Gil-galad grabbed his cloak. “You’re the healer here, Elrond.” Swirling it over his shoulders he gazed at his friend. “Make him remember.”

With that he left.

“Make him remember, Elrond.” With a sigh, he stood, shaking his head for the stubbornness of his ruler. “As if it was as easy as that.” He snapped his fingers and scowled in the direction the king had left. Gathering his books, he headed for his rooms. Jesting or not, there was an undertone in Gil-galad’s voice that told him his king was serious.

He wanted answers.

Soon.

~*~*~

_Smoke. Fire._

_The White City was burning._

_Dragons in the sky, shooting flame at everything that moved or stood in their way._

_Prowling packs of wolves, golden eyes gleaming hungrily in the fire of the burning city. Giant wargs running down men, woman and child alike, devouring them._

_Raucous, guttural laughter as orcs plundered home after home, slaying any who got in their way._

_The streets were slick with blood; black and red mingling as trickles of blood bled into the waters._

_Gondolin, White City of the Elves, gleamed red in the preternatural darkness that descended with the smoke. Screams and cries, defiant and hopeless both, rang through the air._

_Still it had seemed all was not lost._

_Then the shadows deepened, twisting to take shape. Flame and ebony mingled in a defiled form. Twisted and wrested from the light; corrupted to an envoy of evil who answered to Morgoth._

_Once Maiar, now adulterated into darkness. Death incarnate. Reapers of the dark, the Balrogs had come and stolen whatever small hope the Gondolhrim still held._

_Swords of flame that cut through the strongest wall, the surest defense. Cutting down Elf and stone alike._

_Cutting down those of the Golden Flower, sworn to him, and he, to protect them._

_Ecthelion, his brave, dear friend, having survived one Balrog, slaying it, charging forward to pierce the creature's heart with the point of his helmet. Falling into the fountains with the beast._

_The Lord of the Fountains, drowned._

_No time to mourn the loss, though the grief had surely spurred him on, slicing through the enemy to reach his king._

_Not quite sane in that moment, but nor were any of those who survived that dawn._

_No choice but to retreat._

_One last look back at the city burning brightly, wreathed in flame. Smoke rising as a beacon to all that here… Here the Elves had fallen, failed to stop the darkness._

_Running. Finding some sense of sanity in the placement of one foot in front of the other. Comfort in the familiar rhythm._

_Upwards. To the mountains, the cradle that had been one of their strongest defenses for so long. Hoping the mighty eagles would guard them as they had so many times before. Seeking the bravest of allies to aide them._

_Cold. Turning their cheeks and noses red, making clouds of their breath as they ran, rising higher and higher into the mountains._

_Sudden heat from behind._

_Discovery._

_Pain – though not that of his own. A cry of denial as the Balrog slew the warrior, wings unfurled and mouth open in a fiery roar of defiance as it stood over the body._

_Anger, hot and slow as the sludgy blood that coursed through the demon, heating his mind, tinting his vision until all he saw was red._

_Red. Running down the streets, down his face, across his hands. Red staining his soul…_

With a gasp, Glorfindel abruptly jerked upright, panting as he looked wildly around.

Closed his eyes as he realized it wasn’t real.

Suddenly desperate to move, to feel wind on his face, Glorfindel dressed, pulling on leggings and a tunic, before padding barefoot through the corridors of the castle.

No one was up as yet. It was still dark, though the early hours of the morning.

The same time Gondolin had fallen.

The thought made him wince. Why did his mind persist in recalling the worst events?

Unless these truly were not the worst.

It was a depressing thought, and one that carried him outside to a garden where Glorfindel sat in the grass, leaning back against a tree. Closing his eyes to soak in the sensations of the night.

Quiet hoot of an owl hunting nearby.

Chirruping song of a cricket.

Rustle of the wind through the leaves, carrying tidings of a storm rolling inland from the ocean. The scent of moisture as the breeze played over his face, caressing his hair into loose waves of gold that tumbled down his shoulders and back.

Rough bark of the tree comfortingly familiar as it dug into his spine.

Digging his fingers into the grass, he ran his hands through the dew-wet greens, feeling the dampness also soaking into his leggings. Cooling his feet as the grass tickled his toes.

Glorfindel opened his eyes, tilting his head back to look up through the branches at the stars.

Beginning to remember, and realize what he had lost.

A brother and sister, both gone with Gondolin's ruin. The companions and friends, those who had looked to him to lead his House, all of them brave, worthy souls. How many times had they stood on the walls during watch?

The Great Eagles, equals and allies, soaring over the city they guarded. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the wind in his hair, the warmth of a feathered body beneath him as he rode with the Lords of the Wind.

So many gone. Faces with no names. People he should recall, would recall, he hoped.

The fountains and waterfalls of the city, and the tree Turgon had been so terribly proud of, though he personally had found it a bit much.

Betrayal so bitter it stung.

The blasted stones and Feänor's bloody curse had worked entirely too well, hadn't they? Yes, the first blood spilled had been at Moroth's doing. That was no excuse for the kinslaying, was it? Nor the second kinslaying in Doriath. The Teleri and Sindar had been as innocent as Finwë - moreso, for all they were called darkened. They were innocent of the taint.

Until the Noldor brought it to Enndore.

Glorfindel groaned at the thought of his parents. Three children lost to them, following after the call of the Deep Elves. He should have listened to his father and done all he could to keep his siblings from going.

Ironic. He'd been the one to balk, insisting they wait. Trusting that the Valar would act against Morgoth.

They had, but too late.

“Are you in pain?” Elrond knelt, concerned at the depth of the pain he had heard in that small utterance. Bright blue eyes, piercing him with intensity, voiced what the blonde could not utter. Brow drawing inward, Elrond reached out to gently grip the other’s shoulder. “What is it? Something plagues you, does it not?”

Glorfindel, eyes as haunted as any Elrond had ever seen, nodded. What word would one use to express the pain, loss and regret of an entire Age? Of the beauty of Valinor he'd seen growing up, knowing now that he would not see it again until ...

Elrond felt the other’s pain almost as plainly as if it were his own. The anxiety and sorrow had called to his healer’s senses, cutting through the dreamworld of elves as keenly as a knife. Pulling him here to this garden.

He had always been sober, much moreso than his twin, Elros. Elros, who had loved life with a lightness that gleamed in his eyes when he smiled. When he laughed.

He had laughed often.

Sometimes it was still hard to believe he was truly gone. That he would never again hold his twin, share a hug and a smile.

That they would never again meet, unless Ilúvatar saw fit to match the Elves with the music of Mankind at the end of Arda.

He had chosen a mortal life…and died as all mortals must, passing from Arda to the Halls of Mandos. From there… A mystery to all, but especially Elves, who did not wither and die.

A pain he felt similar to what was in this one before him.

Elrond frowned, tightening his grip on the other elf’s shoulder as the blonde whimpered softly.

Whimpered? Or was he trying to speak?

Glorfindel was breathing like one who had run a great distance, desperate to force the words to his lips.

Yet no sound came, other than a soft whimpering sound.

He groaned, dropping his head to hide his face from the stars, letting his hair fall in a silken curtain of gold.

Elrond understood in that moment. He almost laughed aloud in relief at having found at least one thing he understood about this elf sitting next to him. Sitting, brushing aside the awareness that he was ruining his silk sleeping pants in the dewy grass, Elrond nodded.

"Melancholy, it is called. 'Tis something that afflicts the eldest among our kind, those who have seen...too much."

Pursing a lip, he gazed up at the stars. Usually he found it difficult to speak to most who asked about his past. His life had been...unusual. As mixed as the blood in his veins. Here in the dark, with only the stars to light them, he felt easy in speaking.

"That is Eärendil. My father. The same boy you knew as Idril's son in Gondolin." Shake of his head that sent the dark hair tumbling around his shoulders. "Hard to imagine it so, but it was he and my mother who finally gained the attention of the Valar. Who pleaded for their intervention in Enndore."

Dark blue eyes met pale blue. "I had them such a short time before we too were engulfed in the madness of the Silmarills. Elros, my twin, and I were taken from them. Separated." A wry smile curved his mouth, gaze distant as he remembered. "I often wonder if Maglor realized what he was getting into in taking us to care for." Shaking his head, Elrond sighed. "My parents sacrificed themselves for their people. True, he lives on..." His gaze tracked the brightest stars in the heaven almost wonderingly. "Elwing is said to be there to greet him when he sails his great ship in. I hope so. I would like to think that they are together for all time."

Drawing in a breath as if awakening, he met Glorfindel's gaze. "Elros is lost to me. We were given the choice, human or elf-kind." Elrond was silent a long moment, remembering what it was like to stand before the Valar and state his choice. How it felt when Elros announced his. "He chose the fate of Man."

There was compassion in the lighter blue gaze as Glorfindel listened intently.

"And he died." Elrond nodded slowly. "I know what it is to be all alone in the world, Glorfindel. To be a stranger in a land that was once home."

No answer, but then he hadn't really expected one, had he?

Releasing his breath in a sigh, Elrond turned as a hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

Glorfindel smiled, glowing in the darkness with the inner light all elves possessed, but so brightly it all but burst from his eyes and radiated from his form. “Mellonamin.”

An answering smile curved his lips as he nodded, reaching up to take the other’s arm in a warrior’s grip, holding the other’s forearm. “Mellonamin,” he agreed as the blonde elf quickly imitated his grip.

Letting his hand fall, Glorfindel again turned his gaze to the stars. Once again peaceful. Lifting his hand to watch with intense curiosity as an ant crawled across his hand.

Elrond shook his head and drew in a deep breath. He didn’t know what it meant, this connection he felt to this elf. There was a sense of camaraderie he usually only felt with the oldest of friends. Yet it was hard not to like the other. There was an uncluttered lightness of being in him that was refreshing.

Which made the moment of his sudden pain so mysterious.

Was this the mingling of the old with the new, a reflection of a reborn soul?

Elrond had seen much in his life, though he was far from ancient. His healing abilities gave him insight into the most tortured of souls…and yet this one was a enigma. An endless depth that might never be delved.

Yet time was moving fast. Gil-galad would not wait forever, nor let his Herald waste his time where others would suffice.

With a sigh, Elrond lay back, letting the dew soak into his tunic and hair, smiling. Content for the time.

Tonight, he would live in this now. This moment. Let tomorrow bring its sorrows and burdens. It could not steal the contentment he had found.

~*~*~

“Nay,” Gil-galad sighed in frustration as he watched the blonde elf examining an arrow. “I have not time to spare to wait while he adjusts.”

Elrond frowned slightly. “He learns quickly, milord. It is almost a matter of showing him and the memory sparks.”

“Yet he still has not spoken.” At his companion’s slow head shake the older elf made a decision. “I cannot spare you any longer, Elrond. Something is stirring those who have settled in Eregion. I do not know if it is their close association with the Dwarves or some other mischief.” Gil-galad stood, frowning lightly. “I suspect, as you do, it is the old evil. The deceiver." He gestured towards Glorfindel. "Hand him off to someone else. I need your insights and instincts and will not have my Herald wandering around teaching a grown elf the simplest things.”

Seeing Elrond open his mouth to protest, Gil-galad raised a hand. “Nay, my mind is made up. I know I bid you to help him and you have tried, but he is a lock that perhaps another key is meant to open. I have not time nor patience to wait for the discovery. We leave for Eregion in the morning to go talk to Celebrimbor and meet with this Dwarf King.” A wry smile curved the Noldor’s lips. “I have a feeling I will need your wise insights to keep me from insulting the burrowers.”

Elrond’s brow drew together, but he nodded. “You leave the choice to me then?”

“Of course.” Gil-galad’s smile was tinged with dry sarcasm. “Did you think I would leave him to Círdan’s tender mercies?”

“He did come from the sea.” A small smile twitched the younger elf’s mouth.

“My foster father is many things, Elrond.” Gil-galad squeezed his shoulder. “His patience is for wood, wind, and water. Come to me when you are done here. I have several documents I need to go over with you.”

“Yes, milord.” Elrond drew in a deep breath as he watched Gil-Galad stride off, pausing to see what it was Glorfindel was doing, offering a smile for him, before continuing on.

Given a choice he would not give up on the blonde elf as yet, but Gil-galad’s instincts were rarely wrong when it came to his kingdom and the well-being of his people. If something of the dwarves treating with his people was disturbing his peace, then there probably was more to it than first appeared.

Gil-galad was not uncaring, but he had many priorities to balance, and he knew well that his herald was more inclined to follow a healer’s instincts when it came to a mystery like Glorfindel.

The other elf truly was not wounded in any way that showed, but Elrond’s instincts bade him find another with healing talents. Yes, Glorfindel seemed as innocent as a babe, but there was a duality in him Elrond sensed needed compassionate handling to balance in this present life.

He stood and walked over to find the blonde staring at a black-fletched arrow in his hand.

Glorfindel looked up as Elrond crouched before him, a clear question in his eyes as he held out the arrow.

“Hmm.” Elrond shook his head. “I do not know how it came to reside here. Most likely it was retrieved after an encounter.” He saw an expression of clear distaste settle on the other’s face and stood as Glorfindel rose to his feet.

“Yrch,” the blonde said with a grimace and snapped the black arrow, tossing it in a pile of things to be burned.

“You do pick interesting words when you choose to speak.” With a small smile Elrond gestured. “I have a message to write, Glorfindel. Do you wish to stay here in the stables?”

Stepping beside him the other elf gave no indication he understood, but looked as though he was waiting for Elrond to indicate where they were going.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Making a mental note to see if there were any chronicles or letters in the archives about Gondolin that might give him a clue as to what sort of temperament Glorfindel had previously, Elrond headed for his study, the silent blonde elf at his side.

~*~*~


	3. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

“My esteemed mentor!”

Elrond stood to greet the elf entering the room, forgoing formality and embracing her. She laughed, hugging him before stepping back to regard him with keen silver-grey eyes. “Imagine my surprise at getting a message from you when I only came home again yesterday.”

“The very walls have ears, you know.” Elrond’s smile was teasing.

“In fair Mithlond where the King’s Court is kept?” A small snort. “How well I know it.” She sat and sighed. “I am so very grateful for a floor that does not sway up and down, or side to side.”

“I was truly surprised to hear you were not in Mithlond, Bronwe.”

The elf smirked, tucking her hair behind her ear. “A rare occasion, to be sure, but I had an escort that would put a Prince of the Vanyar to shame.” She sighed. “Lord and Lady Cemendur were adamant their heir be delivered with full pomp and honour. The Lady Galadriel could have caught the child as well as I but they feared some fell curse that ne’er came to pass.”

“Just as well you were present then.” Elrond smiled as she looked upwards. “Círdan is still determined to make a proper Teleri of you yet, hmm?”

She shook her head. “I love the sea, I simply don’t love ships.” Her smile faded slightly. “I’ve seen too many loved ones leave on those vessels to be fond of them.”

Elrond nodded. Much of her family had gone West after the death of Dior in Doriath, escaping from the troubles of Arda. She had remained, choosing to travel with many of the survivors of Doriath to Mithlond. “Yes, but you humour Círdan so perfectly he takes it for interest.”

With a snort the elf shook her head. “I can see being Gil-galad’s Herald has yet to tame that sarcasm of yours.”

“Only tempered it,” he agreed.

“So tell me.” She leaned forward slightly. “What is this mystery you alluded to in your note?”

“Whom, not what.”

“An Elf?”

Elrond nodded. “Of rather unusual circumstances.”

“Coming from you that is rather frightening.”

A wry smile as he drew in a deep breath. “Were there any tales in Doriath of Elves returning from Mandos’ Halls?”

Eyes widening slightly, Bronwe gazed at him a long moment, wondering why a Lore Master was asking her such a question. One descended from Tinúviel herself. Still, she knew Elrond had reasons for the things he did. “Lúthien and Beren, of course.”

Elrond nodded. “And yet we seem to have another who has come to dwell amongst us.” Seeing her rapt attention, he smiled. “Does the name Glorfindel sound familiar?”

She blinked once, frowning. “Are you telling me that the slayer of the Balrog, lamented and sung of in lays, is alive and here in Mithlond?”

He nodded, holding the disbelieving gaze of the other with a mild smile.

“You know this for fact?”

“He is here.” Elrond gestured behind him. “Looking through chronicles in my library.”

“Neither you nor Gil-galad knew him.” Bronwe gnawed on her lower lip, trying to reconcile what she knew was normal with this information.

Normally an elf, slain or dead of grief, went to Mandos’ Halls. After a time they were released to live in Aman.

They did not return to Enndore, and indeed, who would wish to forsake Aman?

“Do we know he’s truly one and the same?”

“Galadriel called him by name. Glorfindel of Gondolin. Named him cousin even.”

“Bright Lady,” she breathed, standing to wander to a window, gazing out at the dusky sky. Shaking her head, Bronwe turned to face her former mentor. “Why?” It was no small question. Elves did not typically gain reincorporated bodies. Such a thing occurred for no small reason. “Did he also sing and charm Mandos into returning him for the sake of his love?”

Elrond chuckled. “I doubt it, though it is possible.” He stood, walking over to stand next to her. “We don’t really know why he is returned.”

“Did you ask?” She wrinkled her nose as he stared at her for such an obvious question. “Don’t give me that look, Elrond Half-Elven!” Small grin.

“There is our difficulty.” He sighed. “Glorfindel doesn’t remember.” At her stare he added, “Anything. He did not even offer a name to us and has spoken a grand total of six words since we found him.”

“Found him.”

He nodded. “Gil-galad and I were riding along the shore and came upon him, sitting on a rock, gazing out at the ocean, naked as the day he was born.” Rubbing her forehead, Bronwe sat against the sill. “He was unclothed and didn’t know who he was.”

She frowned up at him. “Why send him back then?”

Chuckling, Elrond shook his head. “You ask what we wonder as well.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Was that suspicion in her gaze? Eyes narrowed, she watched him like one of the great hawks.

“Gil-galad and I leave for Eregion in the morn.” He sighed and gazed at her. “I cannot leave him alone. I don’t even know if he understands when I speak to him. You came to mind as soon as I pondered who could possibly help him relearn all that he must know to re-enter society.”

“Me.”

Elrond nodded. “Does that surprise you?” Soft smile for a favoured student. “You are a gifted healer, Bronwe. Why do you think you are kept so closely? Females with the gift of healing, and even moreso those willing to expend themselves outside of kin, are growing exceedingly rare.” A frown drew his brows together. “We are losing more gifts with each passing generation.”

Gnawing on her lip again, the elf regarded him with a solemn gaze. “Wouldn't he be better off with a male?” She stood abruptly, pacing to a table where books and parchments were scattered. Fingered the feather on an ink quill. “My brothers have been gone since the fall of Doriath, and I am no expert on male thinking. How could he relate to me?”

Slowly walking over to stand near her, Elrond raised one eyebrow. “You have more empathy than most healers I have worked with. You know what a patient needs, how and when.” Reaching out, clasped her shoulder. “I sense this is the correct decision, Bron. There is…something in you that I sense will help him to get past whatever it is that blocks him now.”

Her eyes shimmered pale grey in the dimming light as she held his gaze for a long moment. Pulling away, she turned and stared at the floor, considering what he had said, how she felt and what her instincts were telling her. She had no fears for getting involved too personally – no healer would do so. The patient/healer bond was a sacred one. To break the trust would make a mockery of the healing.

Elrond was an incredibly gifted healer, a legacy of his mixed ancestry. She trusted him.

He, it seemed, placed trust in her.

Bronwe turned, expression unreadable. “Might I meet him? Then I will tell you yes or no.”

The dark-haired elf nodded. It was a perfectly reasonable request. If there was no connection in a healing such as this, there was little hope for success. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”

~*~*~

Elrond watched, silently gauging his former student’s reactions to Glorfindel. He hadn’t expected her to be overwhelmed by him, but one never knew how another would react to being introduced to the hero of songs brought back to life.

He was pleased to see Bronwe treating the blonde elf like any other patient. She was laughing as she pointed to something on the page before Glorfindel.

“That is Círdan, though the drawing is certainly far from accurate.” Mirth gleamed in the grey eyes as she straightened. “Círdan is an oddity because he has a beard.” Shooting a glance at Elrond, she continued, “And the fact that he cares more for ships than almost everything else.”

“You aren’t supposed to teach your own prejudices, Bron,” Elrond scolded lightly.

“Oh, yes…” She nodded with an entirely somber expression. “For I am certain I gained none of my opinions from my own esteemed mentor.” With a wink for Glorfindel who was watching the by-play with a curious smile, Bronwe gestured with her head towards Elrond.

The blonde elf arched one eyebrow and pointed to the one who had shepherded him about.

“Yes.” Bronwe nodded, sitting next to Glorfindel. “Elrond was my mentor. He is a very wise elf, Glorfindel, if a bit on the stodgy side at times…”

The elf in question raised an eyebrow, gazing at her with dark blue eyes. “Stodgy?”

Continuing as if he hadn’t spoken, Bronwe confided, “He was always very serious, at least since I have known him, but I’m afraid Gil-galad’s influence is not helping. The King made Elrond his Herald and …” She sighed, shaking her head in mock dismay. “He’s taken it all quite to heart in typical Peredhil stubborn fashion.”

And he had been worried she might be overwhelmed? Elrond watched Glorfindel carefully for any negative reaction to Bronwe’s teasing, but he was smiling easily, obviously enjoying himself. Which really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. From all Elrond had been able to find and read of Gondolin, Glorfindel had been accounted as an outgoing, sociable sort. His name had certainly been listed enough times at court functions.

“Glorfindel.” Elrond walked over to stand before the other two. “Gil-galad and I have been called away and I must leave tomorrow for a time. I had thought to leave you in Bronwe’s care while I was away. ”He didn’t miss the surprise or curious look the blonde shot in Bronwe’s direction, and schooled his face to keep from showing any expression.

Bronwe knew as well as any healer, perhaps better since he had the training of her, that you never, under any circumstances, became involved with anyone you were treating. He had drilled that into her head from the beginning after seeing several promising young healers commit the folly of involving their hearts in a patient, only to have it all fall apart when the patient returned to his or her life.

Healers walked a fine line. They had to care, must be committed mind and soul to wanting to see a patient get better, or the healing simply wouldn’t work. Almost anyone could mix herbs, concoct teas and brews to help a sick person. The act of healing required a certain degree of trust and intimacy. Barriers had to be lowered so that the power granted the healer could be transferred. Directed.

It was an instinctive ability. Every elf had the ability to some degree, mostly lesser. Healers were the few who had the ability to channel huge amounts of the healing power to a patient. To direct it and control it to a finely honed degree.

Healing was selfless. It meant giving of yourself. Surrendering to the power and allowing it to flow. Taking in a degree of the other's pain in order to understand.

They had to be cautious not to give too much of themselves, and yet be willing to give all.

“What he’s trying to say, in his best heraldly fashion, is will you agree to allow me to continue with your getting back into this life?” Bronwe ignored the mock put-upon sigh of her mentor, looking at Glorfindel. “While I can sense some of what you are feeling, I cannot read minds like some.”

“Galadriel.” Another word from the mostly silent elf.

Bronwe nodded at the look of distaste on the blonde’s face, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. “She is very powerful, yes. With me, however, you’ll need to exercise those vocal abilities and speak.”

Elrond almost chuckled at the speculative way Glorfindel regarded the woman, as if weighing the possibilities. To her credit, Bronwe gazed right back, perfectly collected.

Glorfindel turned his gaze to Elrond and he seemed to be struggling to find a word. “Back?”

Elrond waited, hoping for more, but shook his head as the blonde huffed in frustration.

It was Bronwe’s advantage at that point. Sitting as close as she was to Glorfindel, she sensed some of what he intended. “Will he return?”

An impatient nod.

“Mithlond is my home, Glorfindel.” Elrond smiled, finding it easy to like this quiet elf. “When Gil-galad is satisfied his work is done in Eregion, we will return here.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Glorfindel, and he nodded again.

“Is that a yes to you agreeing to work with Bronwe then?”

A rather mischievous smile curved the blonde elf’s mouth as he glanced at the woman, then met Elrond’s eyes. “Yes.”

Bronwe chuckled. “I’m going to be busy, and here I thought I was going to have a quiet lull between the ladies of court bearing their heirs.”

Elrond knew there were always elves coming and going, whether to see their loved ones off to Aman, visit the court in Mithlond, or emissaries there to take something up with Gil-galad and his advisors. There was never a shortage of beings needing a healer’s attention it seemed.

And not all were elves. There was a strong trade between the other peoples of Arda and Gil-galad’s people.

“I must take leave. Glorfindel, I will see you when I return.” Elrond cocked an eyebrow at Bronwe. “Walk with me a moment?”

Standing, Bronwe told Glorfindel, “I’ll be right back. Here,” She reached over and flipped through the parchments to several covered in drawings and calligraphy. “The tale of Eärendil and Elwing, since you had a hand in keeping Elrond’s father alive. Elrond’s family history is fascinating.”

A snort that announced her mentor heard her comment, and she lightly touched the blonde's shoulder before walking away with Elrond.

Once he was certain they were out of ear-shot, Elrond stopped. “I do not wish to alarm you, Bron, but …be alert. I hesitate to call it dark, but there is a duality to Glorfindel I have sensed.”

Tilting her head to regard him, the woman offered a quirky smile. “Are you telling the slayer of a Balrog could be dangerous?”

Sighing, Elrond reached forward to touch the side of her face. “Stars light your path, Bronwe.”

“Lothron lîn taleg n galen a en hwest erin lîn ad, my esteemed mentor.” She reached up to likewise touch his face. “Lady guide you.”

Turning before he had disappeared, Bronwe returned to Glorfindel who was engrossed in gazing at the parchments. He looked up as she sat across from him and pointed to one of the drawings.

A rueful smile curved Bronwe’s face. “That is Elwing in the form of a bird, the Silmaril bright upon her breast.” Her gaze stayed on the gem and her thoughts wandered to another time, another Silmaril, and the downfall of an entire land.

So much lost due to one elf’s deeds and words.

So much power in seemingly little things.

Her brooding was broken as fingers touched her hand. Looking up, Bronwe blinked at Glorfindel, seeing the concern in the light blue eyes. She shook her head. “I am sorry, my friend. I was lost in reminiscing.” Taking a deep breath and clearing her mind she smiled brightly. “Would you like to hear the tale of Eärendil and Elwing?”

Glorfindel nodded, smiling ruefully as she shook her head, her waiting for him to speak clear in her expression. “Yes,” he answered and was granted a bright smile.

He settled in for the tale, listening to the elf’s lilting voice and letting it carry him along.

~*~*~


	4. Adaptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Bronwe grinned at the elf walking behind her, noting that he was holding on to the branches for balance less already. Moving with more of the grace that came naturally to elves – but was learned while they were small children.

Glorfindel, in the body of the adult he had been, now had to relearn all that he had known. To re-train this new body to react in ways that had been instinctive.

Though Bronwe was almost positive this golden haired Elf had never walked the boughs and branches as easily as strolling a lane in Gondolin. He had no resemblance to any Silvan relatives of her own, and that blonde hair was too gold to be Sindarin or Teleri.

Never too late for learning, however, and the trees had been calling to her to come away and commune in their leafed arms.

She smiled, resting her hand on the trunk before leaping lightly to another branch. “This is a wonderful tree. It’s been here for Ages.” The healer turned to see how her patient was progressing and found him standing on the branch, hand on the tree. Head cocked as if listening.

“Can you hear it?” Bronwe walked back to stand next to the blonde.

“It’s…soft.”

She nodded. “Until you’re used to listening to them, trees are rather quiet.” Raised grey eyes to the leafy boughs above them. “They’ll tell you of rain coming, and which way the winds blow. What birds are in the air, or have alighted on them. Of the things burrowing in the dirt. The creatures that make their homes in their branches.” Bronwe’s expression was reverent, gaze unfocused. “Tell you of the Ages they’ve seen, and how the lands around them have changed.”

Glorfindel gazed at her, eyes bright with curiosity. “Is…so aged.”

“Yes.” She smiled softly. “This is a very ancient tree.”

“Sad.” He frowned, struggling for words to express the sensations he was getting. “Many gone.”

Bronwe nodded, her gaze going south to where Beleriand had once been. “Many of them sunk with the land,” she told him softly. “It affected everything and everyone on Arda.” She stroked the branches. “There were whole forests of these ancient ones where I grew up.”

“Tree moves?”

Arching an eyebrow, Bronwe tilted her head. Frowned lightly. “This isn’t an Ent, Glorfindel. Those…” Heavy sigh. “I fear they’re long gone.”

“Tree moves,” he insisted, and pointed to the branches. Made walking motions. “When crossing from tree to tree. It moves with you. For you.”

She blinked. It was something so integral, so a part of her, of being an Elf, she never thought that he didn’t know. “Yes, they…” Shrugged. “Trees and Elves understand one another. They tell us what branches will not hold. Where it’s best to cross.”

“Move.”

Bronwe laughed at his insistence. “Did it?” For all she knew it had. “Then I am, indeed, honoured.” She gestured for him to follow, easily picking out the best path. She had ran through the limbs of trees as a child in Doriath and Ossiriand. Raced her brothers to see who could scamper through the forests without stirring a leaf. Walking the branches had been as natural to her as walking on the ground.

It made her happy to see she hadn’t forgotten those skills. “I don’t get out here often enough anymore,” she mused to herself. Automatically gauged the distance, leaped lightly to a branch stretching out over the lake without a second’s pause. She turned to see Glorfindel regarding the distance dubiously.

He looked around, searching for a different route and she chuckled. “Don’t go that way…”

The blonde frowned. “Closer.”

“It’s not solid enough.” Bronwe shook her head as he ignored her. “Stubborn…” Leaped lightly down another branch, heading towards him.

Glorfindel sprang off the branch he was on, landing a little awkwardly on the new one, but caught his balance almost immediately. Grinned up at her with a self-satisfied smirk.

Which quickly disappeared when the branch gave an ominous crack.

“Jump!” Bronwe tried not to laugh at the dismay on his face as the branch began to give underneath him.

The blonde ran forward and made a lunge for a nearby limb, grabbing it as the branch beneath him snapped and fell, tumbling down into the water with a splash. Swinging back up onto a new branch, Glorfindel regarded the tree with a deeply offended expression. “Doesn’t like me!”

“It doesn’t know you,” she corrected. Sighed as she looked at the broken branch, making her way over to stand with him. “Trees are like people, Glor. Some welcome company and others are a bit grumpy.”

Shooting a dubious look at her, Glorfindel climbed down the tree, dropping to the ground with a satisfied sigh. He watched the healer as she continued to almost…stroll through the trees.

Shaking his head, he followed – on the ground. Wondering idly if she had ever met Yavanna.

Yavanna. Something sparked in his mind at that name, and he looked up at the trees frowning.

She had asked him something. Asked him while facing the Máhanaxar. Something he had not been prepared to answer, not even after so long in Mandos' care, searching his soul.

Right before …before the light had become blinding, ripping him away to-

Glorfindel grunted as pain lanced through his head. Stopped walking and pressed the palm of one hand to his forehead, grimacing. Everything suddenly became louder, brighter. His own breathing was so loud. Nauseated, he dropped to one knee, willing the pain away.

Rustle of leaves and a cool hand touched his, gently pushing it aside. “Try to relax. Deep breaths.”

He sat suddenly, with a thump that jarred his head, making him grunt in pain.

“Just give me a moment,” Bronwe said softly. She reached under his hair, fingers trailing along the back of his neck. Felt the muscles knotted there and snorted. “Tense much?”

He jumped as her fingers dug into the knot of pain, fisting his hands to control the impulse screaming to shove her away. Focused on breathing in. Out. Felt like his head was going to split. Possibly spilling his stomach in the process.

Finally, after what felt like a whole age, the pain decreased to a dull throb. He sagged a bit in relief. “Hurts very bad,” he said softly.

“I can tell.” Bronwe shook her head, continuing to work at the knots of muscle. Pushed his hair to one side, and shifted around behind him to get a better angle. “What has you so tense, Glor?”

Letting his hair loll forward, he only grunted in answer.

He didn’t want to think about that again.

Ever, if it could possibly be avoided.

Leaned back slightly into the kneading hands, back arching in pleasure as the pain receded. “Mmmmm….” Touch. He had missed that above all else. The simple contact with another being.

Bronwe chuckled at the purr. “I think you’re fine now.”

He turned his head, giving her a dismayed look. “Don’t stop!”

The healer shook her head, grinning at him. “I bet they sent you back because you were causing a ruckus, didn’t they?” Nodded at his guileless grin. “Mmm- hmm. You, my friend…” Bronwe stood with a pat to his shoulder. “..are going to fit right in at Court.”

Glorfindel scrambled to his feet, walking close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. Unwilling to lose that contact so soon. “Elrond is at Court?” He missed the dark haired elf.

“Usually, yes.” Slanting a look at the elf following almost on her heels, Bronwe snorted and took his hand in hers. “You miss that, don’t you?” Stopped as he did, smiling slightly at his surprise. “It’s all right, Glorfindel. The need for touch…to feel loved, is something we all crave.” Shrugged one shoulder. “I have no idea what it was like there for you, but I can imagine it was rather…lonely.”

He drew in a long breath and seemed to be struggling with something. The light blue eyes conveyed a sense of distress. “Can I …hug?” At her nod, he stepped forward, gently slipping arms around her waist to loosely embrace her. Dropped his head to her shoulder as her arms wound around his waist.

Nothing intimate about it, yet it was as satisfying to him as that first touch of the ocean on his skin. Just to feel the vital sense of life in the other. A heartbeat. Breathing. Warmth.

That comfort couldn’t come from anywhere else. Even the Valar, for all the power they wielded, had not the warmth of another living being. Possibly because of the power.

He stepped back first, dropping his arms to his sides. Innate sense that more would be unwelcome. Gained a bright smile from her.

“Friends can comfort friends, Glor.” Bronwe reached up, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“We’re…friends?”

“I’d like that.”

The pair started walking again, heading back towards Mithlond, which really wasn’t very far. A meandering path through the woods that led to the garden area behind her cottage.

He grinned suddenly. “Bron?”

“Hmm?” She reached up to trail a hand along the leaves of a branch above her.

“When can I make more friends?” Suddenly restless. Wanting more.

“Tired of me already, eh?” She winked at his dismayed look. “I’m teasing. We’ll go to the market tomorrow. There will be a lot of others there. See how you do in a crowd, all right?”

He nodded. “Yes.” Walked a ways before slanting a sly look. “Will be pretty girls?”

Bronwe laughed, tilting her head back to look up through the canopy of green above them. “Yes, Glor. There are plenty of pretty elves in Mithlond.”

“Good.”

Shaking her head, Bronwe arched an eyebrow. “Race you back?” She took off running before he could respond.

Staring after her in shock for a moment, Glorfindel tore off in pursuit, laughing.

~*~*~

The market was alive with sighs and sounds, smells. Almost overwhelming hubbub compared to the near solitude Elrond had surrounded him with. Glorfindel blinked as a large being, arms loaded with parcels, almost ran into him, grunting an apology before continuing on. Stopping, the elf stared after the being, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Glor.” Bronwe captured his arm with a light laugh. “Try not to stand here staring. You’ll be run down.”

“Who?” His eyes followed the burly figure through the crowd.

“A Man.” The healer pulled him to one side, out of the flow of traffic. “Númenóreans, to be exact.”

The golden-haired elf turned his gaze to hers, dubious expression drawing his brows together. He remembered humans.

“Edain, Glor.” Bronwe used the term he would have known. He had fallen before the Valar had raised the island for the faithful. She released his arm and turned to continue through the market, glancing back to make sure he was following.

Finding a stand with fresh fish, the healer stopped to talk to the fisherman.

Glorfindel listened for a moment, looking around. A loud clang and sudden flash almost made him jump. Drawn, almost against his will, he slowly walked towards the open area of dirt. Set off to one side, almost by itself, a small table was set up displaying various metal items.

It was the fire that drew the elf’s attention. Coals, stoked and banked, kept glowing by a judicious use of the bellows. Bare-chested, skin gleaming with sweat, the smithy pulled the piece he was working out of the coals, set it on the anvil and brought his hammer down with a clang that reverberated through the air. Grunting, he jammed it back in the coals, rotating it, and sparking the coals to flame.

Glorfindel stiffened, blue eyes going round. Hugely, unnaturally wide, as he stared at the flames.

Flame.

Heat. Unbearable heat. Suffocating him. Ripping the air from his lungs. Beating against his skin, tingling in pain.

Distantly, the elf heard a rasping sound, air drawn in to lungs more ancient than his own. The breathy, grating bellow of the creature nearing.

Glorfindel shivered, trembling in the heat of the smithy’s fire. Caught in a waking dream, he couldn’t escape. Couldn’t move. Bronwe hurriedly shoved her basket at the fisherman and ran over to the smithy’s. She couldn’t miss the unadulterated terror radiating from the elf standing, staring at the smithy’s fire.

“Glorfindel.” She didn’t touch him, but stood between him and the fire. “You’re all right, Glor.” Trying to divert his attention, wishing she was just a bit taller and could see eye-to-eye with him.

He trembled again, expression collapsing into a mask of pain and terror.

“No…” Bronwe grabbed his arms, just below the shoulders, and he jerked at the contact. His gaze dropped, meeting and tangling with hers. “Glorfindel, you are in Mithlond. There is no Balrog here.” She grimaced, feeling the swirl of his memory rushing against her, trying to tug her in with him. Bronwe felt the ground beneath her feet, the sun on her face, the swirl of beings around her. Used that to ground herself and shoved the vision back, gripping his arms even tighter. “Come back to the present, Glorfindel.”

Like water draining from a culvert, the vision of flame and heat faded. Leaving him trembling, the fear and anger pumping through him, to fight. To run. Scream. Something… No, someone held him, and he stared, trying to reconcile the past with the present.

Blinked as a shaft of sunlight hit his face. Smelled the fish across the way. Felt a cool breeze against his face carrying the tang of the ocean.

With a groan, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the solid, breathing reality who stood before him.

He was hurting her, holding too tightly, but couldn’t loosen his grip. Bronwe wrapped her arms around the golden-haired elf, murmuring quietly to him. Stroking his back in circles to ease the tension-wracked frame. Slowly let go the mental connection she’d bound him with as he sighed. Leaning back as his grip relaxed, Bronwe tucked his hair behind his ears. Met his gaze, hers searching.

Glorfindel nodded shakily, offering a weary smile.

Bronwe nodded. “Enough for one day, hmm? Let’s go.” Taking his hand, she went back to retrieve her basket, before weaving the quickest, quietest route through the market to reach home.

~*~*~


	5. Remembrances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

_Bright sun, warming his face, gleaming against the white of the city. The flapping snap of flags catching the breeze, proudly riding the winds like the great eagles that winged over the city, guarding and protecting their allies._

He came up here often at dawn, to watch the sun rise over the Crissaegrim. Watching the eagles take wing, soaring effortlessly through the skies.

Wind Lords indeed. Equals with the Elves they watched over, honoured as such.

Glorfindel counted himself fortunate for having met the great ones more than once. He'd even had a chance to converse, if haltingly, to a young male.

They had a magnificent fierceness and freedom about them he loved, and never tired of watching them.

Today though... Today, he had no time to climb the peaks and visit with eagle friends.

His sister and brother had plans that involved him, Lalwendë, a grassy plain and a quiet day spent away from Court. They wanted to speak to him about something, no doubt. Probably some thing or another coming up that they wished to have their Chief's support behind.

Raising his eyes to the green flag dancing in the bright sunshine, the golden flower blazed on the emerald depths, beams radiating out from it, Glorfindel chuckled.

A Vanyar amongst the Nodlor Nobles, he was indeed a bit of an oddity.

He'd thrown in his lot with them, although extremely reluctant to do so, and now... Well, there would be no returning home, would there?

Not now.

Maybe never. Not a kinslayer, he was, nevertheless, exiled. Not banned as such, but with no clear avenue of return either.

Others counted on him. Looked to him to lead. Loyal to those beyond any doubt, he grew weary of pretense at times, though he excelled at it. Court demanded a certain behaviour, and he knew the game well. Played it with a skill few others matched.

Yet at times, especially early morning, he looked West. Wondered what his father and mother were doing on the great white slopes of Taniquetil. If they looked east, longing for the children that had left, against their better advice.

Longed for the gentle sound of his mother's voice, the robust laughter of his father. For the sweet perfume that filled the air.

He longed for home.

~*~*~

So much was wrong.

Changed.

Had it truly been so long?

Glorfindel sat at the table in Bronwe’s small kitchen, tracing a finger lightly over the parchment before him.

Remembered a time when land occupied much of the spaces now coloured blue. When Lindon had not been on the ocean, but inland.

The Valar giveth, the Valar taketh away.

Rather grim smile for that. He knew better than most just how capricious the nature of those powers could seem.

They had intervened. To stop Melkor. Morgoth.

Well. He and his siblings had come to Arda too soon, hadn’t they? If they’d had more patience… Ai. He recalled cautioning them, arguing not to go. To stay in Aman.

Shook his head for the stubbornness of his brother and sister, long since returned to Aman…he hoped. It comforted him to think his parents were reunited with at least two of their wayward children.

And Lal. Beautiful, stubborn..willful, Lalwendë.

Glorfindel let his head fall forward, hair falling in a silken curtain of gold around his face. Felt the ache of their loss as though it was only yesterday.

In his mind, it was.

But time had continued on without him. Changing. The days, weeks…hundreds of years, spent in Mandos’ Halls seeming an eternity.

Mandos’ idea of conversation was extremely uncomfortable rounds of questions meant to scour a soul down to its very barest existence. The Valier wasn't cruel. None of them were. They loved the children of Iluvatar. Mandos had a duty. To pare away the layers living heaped on a fea, so that only the beauty of the unadorned soul lay bare.

In truth it hadn’t been all that long. Certainly not as long as it felt at the time, but then time spent with Mandos was never truly pleasant.

Long enough for an entire land to sink beneath the waves, taking with it the places he had walked, now alive only in his memory.

Stranger in a familiar land, returning home to a landscape utterly different from that he had known.

It was enough to make his head throb.

Heard the pad of bare feet, but didn’t look up. There was only one other person in the cottage, and he was only surprised it had taken her this long to discover him up and about.

Not that she was overpowering. Like Elrond she had a knack for knowing when he wanted to be left alone, or not. An uncanny sense for his moods, and respecting them.

Squinting against the light of the lamp, Bronwe peering sleepily at him. “You don’t sleep much, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued behind him, to the fire. Stirred it with a stick, adding several pieces of wood to the coals.

As the flames caught and grew, she gestured to the lamp. “Douse that, please?”

He did, looking at her curiously. She didn’t look as though she’d slept much herself. “Did I wake you?”

Bronwe shook her head, grabbing a brass kettle and filling it with water from a pitcher. Setting the kettle on a hook over the flames, she moved past him to the cupboard. “No. I…” Waved a hand in a vague gesture. Pulled down two mugs and a tea pot, setting them on the table. “Are you hungry?” Wry smile as his eyes lit in interest. “That’s a silly question, isn’t it?”

Glorfindel had to grin. Food was something he wouldn’t take for granted anymore. Or at least, not for a long time to come. It was the sensory things he had missed most, though he only realized it once he was back. Closing his eyes at reliving the memory of the ocean water on his new skin. Shivered slightly.

Opened his eyes at her small chuckle, cocking his head curiously.

She shook her head and set a loaf of homemade bread, and a pot of honey on the table. Careful not to get either on the map. Sat down across from him, leaning back against the wall to run a hand through her hair.

Glorfindel opened the tea pot and peered inside. “No tea.” Waved her down as she started to get up. “Where it is?”

“Is it,” she corrected automatically. “In the pantry, third shelf, left side.” Watched to be certain he didn’t confuse any of the herbs there with tea.

Knowing look for her careful watching as he returned, dumping tea leaves into the pot. Took the rest back and returned to sit.

“Don’t use bare hands,” she warned as the kettle began to steam.

With a grimace he pulled down his sleeve and used that to grab the kettle. Poured water into the tea pot and set the kettle on the right side of the fireplace. Dropped the top back on the tea pot and looked up to find his companion’s eyes closed, head lolled to the side.

It didn’t look like a very comfortable place to nap. Leaning forward, he lightly touched her shoulder. “Go back,” he said, gesturing to the stairs that led to the rooms as her eyes opened.

Bronwe wrinkled her nose, yawning and sitting up. “No.” Sighed, fingers tracing the swirling forest green pattern on the mugs. She looked up finally, shaking her head. “Memories must be walking abroad tonight.” At his mystified expression, she smiled. “My father used to tell me that when I would be woken by dreams.” Bit her lip and looked to the window. “He said it meant that our loved ones in Aman were thinking of us, and their thoughts came to us in dreams.”

“He is…” Glorfindel didn’t recall her mentioning her family, or seeing any of them.

“In Aman.” Bronwe nodded. Pursed a lip and sighed. “He and my brothers were killed when…” Shook off something. “When Dior was killed. Mother and I came here eventually and she went on to Aman.”

Told tersely. No elaboration. It spoke of a great deal of hurting to him. Glorfindel’s attention was drawn to the map again. “Ever see Ents?”

She smiled, light eyes meeting his gaze finally. “Ada took me to see them when I was young.” A chuckle for the memory. “It took most of the day to have a conversation with them.”

Reaching for the tea pot, she poured some into both mugs. “Don’t wait for me, Glor. You’ve been watching that food since I put it down, so eat.”

Like a child caught out, Glorfindel grinned and broke off a chunk of bread, drizzling it with honey. “Mmmmm,” he hummed happily as he took a bite.

Bronwe laughed, watching him in amusement. It had been this way with every meal. He had an appreciation for the most basic things, it seemed. A fascination with the way light played on water, or danced through leaves. She’d had to explain to him it wasn’t polite to stroke the material of other’s clothing when he’d become mesmerized by the pattern on a shopkeeper’s tunic. And velvet held an almost undeniable lure for him. Hair was another fascination, though one most elves shared. He had gazed at a lady’s undeniably fancy braiding the whole time she’d spoken to Bronwe.

All the plants in the garden behind her cottage had been explored, most of the blossoms touched and sniffed.

Like a child, but unlike a child, he was gentle.

Mostly. It was the impatience that undid him. Things that held still were fine. He could explore those as he wanted. But living, moving things…

The horses in a paddock not too far from Bronwe’s cottage had taken exception to his impatience, throwing up their heads and turning to run off. He’d frowned, turning to her with a haughty expression. “Why?”

Laughing at him probably hadn’t helped.

Licking the honey from his fingers, Glorfindel looked up to find her watching with an indulgent smile. “Bad manners?”

Bronwe shrugged. “In public, yes. At home, no.” She looked away, cradling the mug between her hands. "Círdan is back. I received a message from him yesterday. Would you like to walk to the shipyards later?”

Círdan.

The name tugged at memories. A swirl of faces, the same laughing, dark-haired elf that haunted his dreams…and the memory of singing. Of the sounds of boats moored at long wooden docks, water slapping against the wood. Of Elves singing to twilight and stars.

“I’ve also received word from a friend…” Bronwe dug the letter out of her tunic shirt. Dressed in a tunic and leggings that obviously belonged to someone of a larger stature, she looked very young. “Ramë is coming to town for a bit.”

That name was unfamiliar. Glorfindel picked up his mug, blowing on the tea before drinking. “Go to shipyards in the morning?”

“It is morning.” Bronwe grinned, rolling her shoulders. “Círdan is always up with the sun.”

“Go now?” He set the mug down, standing up.

“Um…not yet.” She blinked, wondering what tasks the shipwright could give her patient to bleed off some of his boundless energy. She had patients to see and had already found that taking Glorfindel with her was not a good idea.

He had the curiosity of one long gone from the world, and asked just about as many unending questions. She found the trait endearing, but not restful for those recovering, or hurt.

There were also his unexpected, sometimes inappropriate, announcements - that someone's bodiced bosom was beautiful, or another's hair reminded him of an eagle's nest.

“Hmm.” With a nod, Glorfindel reached up, stretching. “Go pee then.”

Bronwe shook her head as he walked out, chuckling to herself. Another thing to add to the list of ‘We don’t do or say these in public’.

~*~*~


	6. A Gathering of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

He’d met the silver-haired elf before. The memory was vague, little more than a fleeting impression, but he was certain.

How many elves had beards?

Bronwe had told him on the walk over not to touch it – the beard. And he admitted, watching the shipwright’s silver hair as it caught the light, moving with the sea breezes, it was intriguing. Was it soft like other hair, or bristly, like the pigs had been?

“Do you remember Alqualondë, Glorfindel?”

Blinking back to the present, he stared a bit owlishly at Círdan. “Who?”

The mariner chuckled, shaking his head at Bronwe. “I gather not.” Taking the younger elf’s arm, he led him over to a table where quite a few large parchments were laid out. Found what he was looking for and pulled it carefully out, laying it on top. “There. Haven of the Teleri back some time ago.”

Bronwe offered a sympathetic nod at his sigh. They stepped a ways apart, leaving Glorfindel to examine the maps. “His memories are still settling.”

“Like water when you stir up the silt.” Cirdan nodded, pursing a lip as he watched the blonde. “You’re keeping him busy then?”

She chuckled. “As much as possible. He’s…” Small shrug. “Energetic.”

“Need someone to keep him busy for a time?”

Wrinkled her nose, feeling transparent under that ancient gaze. “Just for a bit. I have some patients to check on.”

“Go,” he chuckled. “There’s always something to do around a shipyard. And…” He looked around. “I doubt he will find much to call forth memories here.”

“He doesn’t look Teleri, eh?”

Cirdan laughed at that, squeezing her shoulder. “Find us later, Bron. Don’t forget the gathering tonight.”

She nodded and walked over to touch Glorfindel’s arm. “Would you mind staying here for a time, Glor? I have several patients to see. I think you would find it rather boring.”

“With Círdan?”

Bronwe nodded.

Shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll stay.”

With a nod for Cirdan, the healer left, waving to others that called greetings to her.

“Come along then, Glorfindel.” Cirdan gestured for him to follow. “Have you ever hung out nets, or repaired them?”

~*~*~

Cirdan sat mending the net quietly, content in watching the waves as his hands went through motions almost second nature to him.

“I was there…at least once.”

The mariner looked up, across the net, to where Glorfindel was frowning. “Where?”

“Haven of the Swans.”

Cirdan arched an eyebrow, slowly nodding as he gazed at the younger elf.

The longer he was around him, the more certain he was he had seen him. Silver eyes unfocused as long memories played out.

A Vanyar Lord, young, but carrying himself with the air of confidence and pride all Vanyar were born with. With him… Cirdan shook his head, not quite able to recall who it was. She hadn’t been Teleri, but she had been beautiful. He nodded again, blinking to focus back on his companion. “Do you remember why?”

Pursing a lip, the blonde moved to a new section of net. “Lal wanted to see… someone.”

Glorfindel looked up. “I remember the arch and the ships.”  
Cirdan sighed. That haven was gone, burned. Ashes and memory.

“I’m sorry.”

He stared. “Why should you be sorry, Glorfindel?” Sighed as the old bitterness rose up, closing his eyes and shaking it off. “You weren’t a part of the kinslaying.” Looked up again. “Were you?”

“No.” But the sadness in the blue eyes was clear. “I knew those who were.” Frowned at the memory of cold. Ice. A journey that seemed to never end. “I… followed Turgon. He was a friend.” Waved a hand as if swatting at annoying memories.

“And ended in Gondolin.” Cirdan nodded. “Both of you.”

Rather wry smile. “Yes.” His gaze went back towards the city. “And young Eärendil lived to marry Elwing, granddaughter of Lúthien.” Glorfindel shook his head. “How it all came together...”

“And now here you have been reunited here, with their son." Another snort. "In the city of the Turgon's nephew."

“Yes.” Huge sigh as Glorfindel threw his head back to gaze up at the sky. “Never doubt the Valar have a sense of humour.”

~*~*~

“I still smell like fish,” Glorfindel grumbled as he sniffed his sleeve.

Bronwe sighed. “I suppose this means I can’t pawn you off on Círdan?” Slanted a sly grin at him which he returned.

“No.” A small gasp from beside him and he looked around warily, only to stop in surprise as Bronwe darted forward. She threw herself at the elf wearing the blue and silver uniform of the soldiers he’d seen around town. The soldier staggered back from the enthusiastic greeting, wrapping his arms around her to swing her around once, laughing.

Glorfindel continued walking, coming up on the pair quietly enough to startle the other man.

Long, light brown hair, braided back off his face, dressed in the blue and silver uniform of Gil-galad’s forces, the elf looked up. Dark blue eyes took the measure of the other elf. “One of your patients, Wenna?”

Hackles raising at the arrogant tone, Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed.

“Arantar, did you read anything I sent to you?” Bronwe gave an exasperated sigh. “This is Glorfindel.”

“Ah…” He had been given to think the elf was ill. Rather…childlike.

This was no child facing him. Arantar had been in the military long enough to recognize someone with an air of command. A surety that did not come from being a simple farmer. The eyes gazing levelly back at him gave no quarter.

Arantar nodded. “Glorfindel.” Arched an eyebrow as his jaw tightened a bit. “Of the late Gondolin, or so I’ve heard?” Leaving no doubt how he felt on that matter.

He might have forgotten a great many things. Words, places, people… But an insulting tone of voice was the same now as it had been before. The Noldor arrogance bred true in this one. “And you are?” The most haughty, condescending tone he could remember.

Bronwe’s eyes widened at the chilling tone, one she’d never heard from the blonde. His whole demeanor was different as he stood with a haughty, almost bored expression.

With a blink, she stopped staring and stepped between them. “Glor this is Arantar, my betrothed. Arantar, yes, this is Glorfindel.” Heard the sniff and almost stomped her foot. He could be the worst snob sometimes! “He spent the morning and afternoon working with Círdan, mending nets and the like.”

Slight frown for both of them. The ‘play nice’ all but verbal as the stare- down continued.

Arantar blinked first, bowing stiffly. “Welcome to Mithlond.”

There was suspicion in the gaze, a wariness that made Glorfindel smile. Understandable, wasn't it? He was in the same residence as the man's fiancée after all. Quirking an eyebrow, he offered a courtly bow. “My thanks.”

Bronwe slipped a hand through his arm. “Are you back for a time? There’s a gather tonight…”

The smile he turned and offered her was warm. “A bit, yes. Until they change their minds and send us back. Speaking of which, I must give my report to my Captain.”

“The gather?” Bronwe leaned into him, a hopeful smile curving her mouth.

Chuckling, he leaned forward to kiss her. “I’ll return as soon as I can, Wenna. Go without me if I’m not back in time.” He nodded at her frown. “I’ll find you.”

A polite nod to Glorfindel and Arantar turned to stride up the lane.

Pursing his lip, Glorfindel watched until the soldier disappeared. “He doesn’t like me.”

“He’s just overly protective.” Browne gestured the blonde into the cottage. “Think of how he sees it, Glor. He comes back, and here I am with a stranger living in my home. One who claims to be the reborn slayer of a Balrog from Gondolin.” Her smile was wry as he stopped, frowning at her. “If you were in his place how would you take the situation?”

He was silent for a moment before shaking his head. No, he would not say it, but he would not doubt her. She was almost painfully transparent at times, but not the type he had known in court; duplicitous and conniving. In contrast, Bronwe was almost...simple Uncomplicated. “Does he know Elrond?”

“Yes, and that…” Bronwe sank into a chair with a sigh. “Is another sore subject.”

Crossing his arms, Glorfindel stopped in front of her. “Why?”

Lacing her fingers, Bronwe shook her head. This wasn't her favourite thing to discuss. “He’s not wholly comfortable with my being a healer, accessible to any and all.” She looked up as Glorfindel sat facing her. “My own family was protective of me as well, Glor. Even here, seemingly on my own…” Waved a hand. “The city guard patrols every hour.”

The blonde considered that for a moment. “Because you’re a healer?”

Bronwe shrugged one shoulder, sinking further into the chair and looking very young in her uncertainty. “Yes…I suppose, and I’m an unmarried female on my own when Arantar is not here.” Snorting, she pushed herself up suddenly, stalking to a bookcase. Bit a lip as she turned. “There are so many places I long to see, and not just in these.” Gestured to the books. “But…our people leave these lands more and more each year, making those of us who do stay…”

“Valuable.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That makes it sound as though we’re dragon gold.”

Glorfindel snorted, shaking his head. “Is precious more acceptable?”

“Yes.” She grinned.

“I begin to see though.” He walked to a window, gazing out at the garden. “Círdan said many elves left for Aman when Beleriand sunk. The times when we walked the lands without challenge have passed.”

“Yes.”

He saw what she was not saying as well. “I don’t see many children.”

Regretted it almost immediately as her expression became distant.  
“There are children.” Bronwe walked past him, heading upstairs. “Fewer each year, but…there are children.”

Leaving Glorfindel to wonder what error he had committed. Scratching at his neck, grimacing for the fish smell, he headed for the bath.

~*~*~

The night was crystal clear, offering an unparalleled view of the stars.

Called by the lull of the waves and sea, the Teleri of the Grey Havens gathered to talk and celebrate their culture in a community more strongly known for its Noldor influence. Though all living there had forgiven the past atrocities, none forgot, and the bonds of clan drew them closer to those of their blood for nights spent singing and dancing under the stars.

Prying determinedly at the oyster, Glorfindel missed seeing Círdan’s amused look. “You might want to eat the cooked ones, Glorfindel.” He pointed to a large pot sitting atop a warming fire.

“I remember them this way.”

Cirdan chuckled at the sly grin. “I’m sure you do.”

Tossing the obstinate clam into the pot, the blonde stuck the knife back in its sheath and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “What is wrong in Eregion that Elrond and Gil-galad must stay so long there?”

Pursing a lip, Círdan shook his head. “There is a spreading darkness over that land.”

“Morgoth?”

Shaking his head, waving down the rise of alarm he saw in the other, Círdan looked out at the ocean. “No, this evil is named Sauron.” Shrewd silver eyes met the light blue gaze. “But its aim is ever the same.”

Glorfindel nodded, frowning thoughtfully as he picked up another clam. This one opened under his knife and he cawed in victory before gulping it down.

Círdan made a moue of distaste, not fond of raw oysters. Still, he let the younger ones have their illusions of what delightful properties the raw oysters supposedly held. Younglings had some of the strangest ideas of romance and love, mixing it up so badly sometimes they didn’t even know love when they saw it right before them.

Too many of the Eldar had passed over the seas, leaving their families to struggle the best they could. It was making for some very confused younger elves.

Then again, almost everyone was ‘younger’ compared to Círdan.

“Be careful with that, my friend.”

“What is?” Glorfindel uncorked the bottle, sniffing curiously.

Círdan didn’t correct his grammar, he just grinned. “Honey Mead.” Seeing the most definite interest in his younger companion, Círdan shrugged and reached behind him for a mug. “Go slowly, Glorfindel. It’s potent.”

The blonde nodded, almost smacking his lips in anticipation.

~*~*~

Nestled at Arantar’s side, arm around his waist, Bronwe reached up to comb his hair back with her fingers. “Why so solemn, love?” He was tense. She could have sensed it even without a healer’s training. Tense, irritable…and hardly said anything since arriving.

Just scowled at the fire.

His arm briefly tightened around her shoulders, his gaze meeting hers before he looked away. “I really can’t tell you, Wenna.”

She sighed, dropping her head back to his shoulder. As if she didn’t know. All he’d talked about, when he talked, was Eregion. A smile curled her lips and she leaned into him, trailing a hand from his shoulder to caress his chest. Sliding it lower, slowly.

“Wenna,” he admonished gently, capturing her hand and leading it back up to his shoulder. “I have a reputation to maintain as an officer in Gil-galad’s service.”

Noldor, through and through, even as he sat amidst a sea of Teleri. The singers, who were in full-swing celebration already, voices raised to the sky and sea. Dancing in the waves. Everywhere, celebrating life.

With a huff, Bronwe pulled away from him, sitting up. She could do nothing right where he was concerned tonight. It wouldn’t get better, and if he didn’t want to be coaxed from it, that was his problem. Rising to her feet, she shook her gown free of sand.

“I need to talk to Melian and see how her baby is doing.” Wished that she could stomp off, but sand really didn’t allow for that.

She walked past Círdan and Glorfindel who looked to be having a hilarious time recounting various memories.

In Quenya?

Shook her head for the oddities of ancient elves and continued on.

~*~*~

They spoke over his head, too quickly to follow, in a dialect he thought must be of Teleri origins.

Certainly not one his fogged, aching head could follow. Groaning, grabbing his stomach, Glorfindel stopped walking to bend forward, retching.

Cool hands held the hair out of his face, kneeling with him as he fell forward on his hands and knees, heaving the contents of his stomach up on the beach.

Círdan grimaced, steadying Glorfindel. Trying to ignore the glare Bronwe was shooting at him as she rubbed the blonde's back soothingly.

"Let's just get him back to the cottage."

"Is he done heaving yet?" Fish guts were one thing. Watching a companion empty his stomach another. Círdan avoided looking at anything but the sky or the ocean.

"He's throwing up bile, Círdan." Bronwe huffed as they got the blonde to his feet, heading towards her home.

Oh, she was angry all right. Angry at him for giving Glorfindel so much mead and rich food.

How was he supposed to know the blonde wasn't used to such things? Just because he was recently returned and newly embodied?

Once home, Bronwe went to the pantry, gathered several herbs, and mixed them quickly. Adding them to water, she set the concoction in front of Glorfindel. "Drink it. All of it, and quickly. It will settle your stomach." She shot an arch look at Círdan. "And help get rid of the toxins."

"That was a good mead!" Círdan snorted as he sat, watching Glorfindel wrinkle his nose at the glass set before him. "Best drink it, Glor. She'll hound you until you do."

"Hound?" Bronwe arched an eyebrow. "Just who nags whom about going out on boats?"

"Ships." Cirdan shrugged. "It's no insult, child. All healers are a bit on the tenacious side." He shook his head. "Hard to believe you were once so quiet I thought you were mute."

Rolling her eyes, Bronwe sat next to him, across from Glorfindel. "Unless you're partial to barfing bile, burning your throat and living with a pounding head all day..." She pointed. "Drink."

"It's green." Glorfindel grimaced, stomach rolling at the mere sight.

"Drink it or I'll hold your nose and pour it down your throat." Said in a deceptively quiet voice, that made the blonde blink.

He drank it as quickly as possible, grimacing at the taste. "Ugh!" Thudded the glass down to rub his throat, coughing.

Bronwe shook her head, watching his dramatics with mild amusement. "Would you rather puke all day?"

"Waste of good mead." Círdan tsk'd, shaking his head. "Silinde's too."

Glorfindel snorted, standing to go get some water and wash away the overpowering herbal taste. Gulping an entire glass, he brought a full one back to the table and sat. "My stomach hurts."

"Told you to eat the cooked clams," Círdan muttered.

Bronwe stood. "Sounds as though you're both fine." Heading for the stairs, to call over her shoulder, "Good night."

Waiting until he could no longer hear her footsteps, Glorfindel muttered, "It's morning."

Círdan nodded, grinning.

"Where is Arantar?" Glorfindel hadn't seen him since he'd left the gather rather suddenly.

"He's a soldier, Glor."

"So was I." The blonde shrugged.

"A professional soldier." Círdan nodded, seeing the comprehension on the other's face. He stood, stretching. "And I have a shipyard to oversee. Don't suppose you want to join me?"

A cautious look as he stood, Glorfindel waited for his stomach to rebel. When it was quiet, not even a tiny gurgle, he nodded. "No fish gutting though. Not today."

"No?" Smirking, Círdan nodded. "Very well. Let's see if we can get you out on a ship and find if you have sea legs."

~*~*~


	7. A Place in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

Swinging his restive mount around Glorfindel found himself facing Celeborn. For a moment the two stared, as if sizing each other up. A smile curled Glorfindel's lips as his stallion pranced sideways, and he bowed his head. "Lord Celeborn."

Dark eyebrows rose though the man's face remained impassive. "Tell me, Lord Glorfindel. Have you regained your memories?"

"Many, yes." Leaning forward to pat his horse's neck, Glorfindel cast a look around. It wouldn't do to be left behind by the hunt, but they were still looking for the trail of the cunning old boar that was wreaking havoc on the gardens. Stilling his mount, he met the pale silver-blue eyes evenly. "Do you wait for an apology?"

"Do you tend one?"

"No." He had nothing to lose, no reason to bow to those he didn't respect. Not this time. Let them look him in the eyes and say he had no knowledge of what he spoke of, Glorfindel knew better.

He knew a great deal, and that knowledge and power was in his gaze.

The pale elf nodded. "You misunderstand my lady I think."

"My Lord Celeborn..." Glorfindel pursed a lip, considering the elf before him. He had no memory of him, the one who had married Galadriel sometime after he'd lost track of his distant cousin. Possibly in Doriath as he'd heard she'd gone to Melian for tutoring. Either way, Celeborn was an unknown, but seemed steady enough.

A good match for a seer.

"My cousin is many things to many people, and I will not lie to you. She and I have ever been at odds."

"She lifted no weapon against the Falas."

A blond eyebrow winged upwards. "No, and yet she is banned from going west, is she not?" Glorfindel frowned, impatient with the conversation. He felt no need to explain himself, and yet here he was, doing just that. Only because he felt the man before him due such. "She is my cousin, lord, that I acknowledge, though not with any great love. I doubt she speaks of me any differently. I advise you let that stand."

The words were met with a frown, and Glorfindel wondered if this mate of Galadriel would demand some sort of honour from him. Foolishness, and yet less sane things had been done in the name of love.

"Do not defame her again in public." Celeborn's voice was calm, but held an edge. "Regardless you are family, she is my wife."

"And will she promise the same for me, milord?" Glorfindel shook his head. "Court is as it has always been, Lord Celeborn. No rules have changed since I last breathed in Enndore." He bowed again, smile curling his lips. "And your wife is exceedingly good at Court politics if I recall."

"She is." Celeborn sighed, frowning. "You leave me at a loss."

Glorfindel chuckled. "As I do many." His smile was genuine. "Your wife, milord, is quite capable of defending herself. And then some."

A horn called the hunt on again, and Glorfindel nodded, reining his mount around. "We're off!"

Celeborn watched the blonde gallop off with a slight frown, following at a slower pace. He had no love for the hunt, though he enjoyed getting into the woods and riding. Mulling the words, he decided to keep his own council of their talk.

Galadriel was many things, indeed, but seers were never the easiest people to live with.

Nor love.

~*~*~

She found him in the kitchen in the middle of the night again, absently drawing with a charcoal pencil he had found. Belting the deep green robe, Bronwe sat across from him.

He looked up, expression solemn. “Memories walking abroad again?” Didn’t miss the musky scent on her skin or the way her hand kept going to her neck. It hadn’t been so long since he last lived that he didn’t recognize the scent or a passion mark.

Wry smile as she coloured slightly. He would tease anyone else, but he had realized she was a very private person, regardless that she seemed to welcome strangers into her home. Círdan had said he wasn't the first 'wounded bird', nor the last. Like her mentor, Bronwe had a habit of treating any who came to her door for help, regardless of race.

At least until she married, and then... Well, it seemed she and Arantar didn't agree on what would happen after that.

Making him wonder again what had drawn the two together. It was hard to conceive of a more opposite pairing.

Controlling the snort with an effort, Glorfindel glanced up again and frowned. “Bron?”

Shaking off her inattention, she met his gaze. “Sorry. No, not dreams tonight, Glor.” With a sigh she traced a whorl in the wood of the table. Tilted her head to look at what he was drawing, hair spilling over her shoulder. “You draw very well.” Looked up with a smile.

“Thank you.” He sat back, setting the pencil down. “I was thinking it was time I found somewhere of my own.”

Eyes widening, Bronwe stared for a moment, frowned and rested her arms on the table to lean forward. “Glorfindel –“

He shook his head. “I make it uncomfortable here.” Gestured up the stairs. “He does not like me being here.”

A snort as her frown grew. “Glorfindel…” With a sigh, she met his gaze. “Arantar’s unit is going back out in another day. As much progress as you have made, I truly don’t think going out on your own is good idea. Not yet.” At his snort, she smiled. “And Elrond would lecture me for turning you lose only mostly acclimated. He’s quite the perfectionist you know.”

A reluctant smile curved his lips. “He lectures?”

She rolled her eyes. “At times.” Standing, she picked a book up from the end of the table, turning it over in her hands. "There is an alternative."

Correcting a line before looking up, he cocked his head. "Oh?"

"Círdan would more than likely be happy to offer you a room. He lives in a rambling house on the bay." Bronwe leaned against the doorway. "It's far too large for just him, but he does enjoy playing Lord of the Grey Havens."

"Playing?" Glorfindel's eyebrows rose. "Isn't he?"

"Yes." She grinned. "But it's still rather funny to watch him grouse about having to dress formally and play host." Pushing upright, she nodded. "I'll be happy to release you to Círdan, Glorfindel. But on your own? No."

Chuckling, Glorfindel sketched a mock bow from where he sat. "I hear and will abide, Mistress Healer."

Rolling her eyes, Bronwe turned to walk into the main room. Most likely to curl up in her favourite chair in front of the fire. She seemed to sleep as little as he did.

Shaking his head, wondering yet again what would draw a person so given to selflessness to one like Arantar, Glorfindel returned to his drawing.

~*~*~

He moved his few belongings in to an empty room in Círdan's home the next day.

Bronwe didn't protest. She nodded as he finished telling her, and smiled wryly.

He didn't leave empty-handed though. She'd sent him off with a supply of parchment papers, charcoal, ink and quills. Any protests were waved away or ignored.

"That's what they do, Glor. Heal a soul to move along and get on with their own life."

Sitting on the bed, staring at the book he'd found in his bundle of things, the book that he'd admired once, Glorfindel looked up, clearly confused. "But..." Shaking his head, he looked out the window to the ocean. "This isn't healing, Círdan. This is generosity beyond..." He opened the book, gazing at the delicate Quenya bordered by swirling patterns of knots and intricately designed animals. Touched the page that showed Elwing taking the form of a bird.

"Glor." Cirdan squeezed his shoulder, smiling. "Accept it and say no more. Bron's more Silvan than anything and you don't question a gift from a wood-Elf, not if you want to stay friends." He shrugged. "They're a quirky lot at times, but once you're accepted, you're a part of their...family."

"Her family is all gone."

"Yes." Círdan thought for a moment and shrugged. "Those she'll tell me about, yes."

"I don't understand her."

That gained a chuckle as the silver-haired elf walked out of the room. "You're in good company, lad."

Shaking his head, setting the book carefully on a table, Glorfindel stood and stood in front of the window. Watching the waves and the ships anchored in the harbour.

This life was so very different from the previous. So much more...simple.

And that was all right.

~*~*~

Leaves were falling, blowing down the cobblestones of the streets before Elrond and Gil-galad returned to the city. Their return heralded the beginning of festival week, as well as a certain tenseness that always existed when the King was present. As if his very presence goaded the nobles into their posturing.

Which it did.

Elves and Númenoreans poured into the city, bringing with them more noise, more gold and more trouble.

"You cannot turn me away! You are a healer." The blonde noble thrust his bloody hand, wrapped hastily in someone's handkerchief in her face. "I am injured! Heal me."

"There are others in this community and I have every right to refuse to treat you, Thranduil." Blocking the door to her cottage with her body, Bronwe crossed her arms and glared at the noble. "I will not treat your kind. Ever."

She'd rather die than touch this one.

Glancing at the hand still held in front of her she made a scoffing noise. "It probably but needs several stitches." Raising cold grey eyes to meet the angry blue, she shook her head. "Go or I'll call for the city guard."

"What's going on here?" Arantar, just returned from receiving his orders, dressed in the dark blue and silver uniform of Gil-galad's forces, frowned at the threatening scowl of the other male. He walked up to stand behind her, hand on her shoulder. "Bronwe, is there a problem?"

She wanted to scream. This was the very circumstance that aggravated Arantar, making him declare once they were married she could no longer be a healer.

He would not have her placed in danger.

"No. I believe this ...man was just leaving."

Cursing sharply, Thranduil spun on his heel and stalked away, cradling his hand.

"Who was that, Wenna? Should I summon the city guard on him?" Arantar cradled her shoulders, sensing her agitation. "You should not have to endure this sort of ugliness." This was precisely the thing that incensed him. No genteel female should have to put up with such harsh treatment.

With a short laugh, Bronwe turned to rest a hand on his chest, smiling at him. "Just a visitor in for the festivities." Threading her arm through his, she urged him away from the door. "Tell me what your captain said."

~*~*~


	8. The Path Set Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

Gil-galad pursed a lip as he stared at the blonde Elf. No longer the naïve changeling they had found on the seashore, now he stood before the Noldor High King, dressed in the velvets and embroidered surcote favoured by the Court, looking every inch a Vanya Noble.

Proud and unyielding gaze leveled on him, blue eyes clear and piercing in their intensity. Blonde hair gleamed golden in the sunlight, flowing over shoulders to mid-back. Lean and lithe, an elf in the prime of his life.

Second life?

He waited as patiently as any of the ancient trees bordering the Palace, unmoved by the penetrating gaze of the Noldor. Looking relaxed, in command - as if he wasn’t the one standing before a king.

Gil-galad almost grimaced for the thought. The Vanyar had been eager to reach Aman, loving it more than Arda. Here, before him was one who could have stepped straight out of one of the colourful tapestries lining the corridors and many rooms of the Palace.

As if to remind him that while he ruled the Elves of Arda, Ingwë was indeed the High King of All Elves in Aman.

The thought, born of his own fancy, almost made Gil-galad snort. The Vanyar had long ago left Aman, and would not return. Let them be the favoured of the Valar. While he still breathed, he commanded the loyalties of the Elves of Arda.

"Have you recalled why you were sent back?"

A smile, not quite a smirk, and Glorfindel nodded. "My memories have settled, milord."

And that was all he was going to say on that matter, wasn't it? Gil-galad snorted. He wanted to know precisely why, to hear the circumstances that had precipitated an event that was so rare only one other had accomplished it.

"Will you remain here?"

"Yes, milord." Glorfindel gave a bow of his head. "If I have your leave to do so?"

"Of course." He frowned impatiently, waving a hand. "I would dearly love to hear why the Valar saw fit to return you to life, and why here in my kingdom..." Pursing a lip, Gil-galad shook his head. "But I know evil is growing, looking for another chance to see the Elven Kingdoms thrown down."

Glorfindel's expression was of mild interest, gaining him a dour scowl from the king.

"Fine, keep your secrets." A slight smile stole the animosity. "I would be pleased to have you in my court, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower."

"Milord..." The blonde drew in a deep breath. "My house is no longer." Holding out his hands, Glorfindel offered a wry smile. "I am the last of that line."

"Nay." Gil-galad stood, shaking his head. "The last, but I won't deny you the rightful claim. You might marry some day. Continue the line." Shrugging, he crossed his arms over his chest. "The title is yours."

"Thank you, milord."

"So tell me." The king leaned against the great wood desk, grey eyes assessing his newest lord. "What should I do with you? Would you accept a command in the army, as you had before?"

A grimace, and Glorfindel shifted, bowing his head for a moment. Gathering his thoughts. He lifted his gaze to meet the king's gaze. "Truly? No. I've had my fill of fighting and killing, of sending men under my command to die. I would not ask for that again."

"You were noted as a good commander, Glorfindel." Gil-galad gestured to several parchments. "Turgon's own hand."

"Aye." He shook his head. "I will serve, milord, and do so loyally. But I will not accept a command."

Stymied again. Gil-galad huffed. "What would you do then?"

Now he received a genuine smile. "I've had it from reliable sources that Elrond is in need of an aide."

The king stared in disbelief for almost a full moment. "You ask me to place you, slayer of the Balrog, Eldar, one of whom lays and laments are still sung..." He sighed as Glorfindel frowned. "Very well. I don't understand...and hope to be enlightened one day soon." Significant look that did not go unnoticed.

Glorfindel offered a low bow. "My lord."

"Go." Snorting, shaking his head in mild amusement, Gil-galad walked around his desk to sit. "Glorfindel."

The blonde stopped, turning at the somber tone. "Milord?"

"If we go to war, and I fear it will come to pass...I will call upon you to use that experience of yours."

"Of course." Another bow, and a small smile. "I expect nothing less of the Noldor High King." A swirl of dark blue cape, Glorfindel was gone.

~*~*~

Elrond smiled as he walked along the leaf-strewn path, the blonde elf who would now be his aide at his side.

Elrond Peredhil was not always an easy person to be around. The amiable politeness soured at times to a brooding edge, earning any dull-witted fop eager to gain an advantage by befriending the king’s herald a cutting reply.

Yes, he was a bit testy at times. He had no patience for the games and foolishness so many of the court seemed to favour. Even less for those who looked to use him as a stepping stone in their own ascent.

So it was rather odd how easily the other fit into his life, stepping gracefully into a role that had run others before him ragged in trying to keep up. Glorfindel seemed perfectly content to abide in the silences that often overtook Elrond. Seemed to harbour some secret inner joy that made the blue eyes brighten as he took in the world around him.

Was it simply the newness of life again? Whatever it was, Elrond found it refreshing. A change from the dour, nervous chaps who had tried to fill the role of his aide previously. Glorfindel had an abundance of confidence. It was proclaimed with every step, every evenly-met gaze. No nervous stammering or twisted hands here.

Indeed, he almost walked as if he were a king. Much as he had behaved when sitting bare as a babe on the rock when found. Self-assured, finding no shame in who he was. Arrogant? Doubtless he could be, and yet he was quick to smile, or make a quip that revealed a sharp humour.

Bronwe seemed to have been a good choice in completing the elf’s acclimation. No surprise, really. Though she could be sharp if she thought a situation warranted it – as it should be with a healer. He’d had to remind her of that relentlessly when he was training her. Bronwe’s nature leaned towards peace. The strong empathy she felt for living things was both a blessing and a problem, depending on the situation.

“Círdan showed you sword and bow work, then?”

Glorfindel nodded, absently pushing back a braid. “And Bronwe.” Wry smile. “She’s a good shot.”

Elrond nodded, smiling. “She’s Silvan. Some of us swear they’re born with bows in their hands.”

“That would be painful.”

With a snort, the dark haired healer nodded. Stopping he turned to face the blonde, cloak swinging against his boots. “Gil-galad is going to introduce you as Chief of the House of the Golden Flower tonight. That certainly puts you on equal footing with me…and the rest of the Court, for that matter.” Shaking his head, he pursed a lip. “Though they will not appreciate him doing so. Or you.”

The blonde regarded the dark haired elf before him appraisingly. “May I speak candidly?”

Spreading his hands, inviting him to comment, Elrond nodded.

“I did not return to Arda to lead, though some,” he nodded, “like your King, would push me to do so.” Glorfindel shook his head. “I had my fill of that last time.” His light blue eyes raised skywards. “My purpose for being here…” A cryptic smile as he returned his light gaze on Elrond. “..will play out.” The smile faded suddenly. “I will not serve as a Noldor King’s freakish oddity who has no will of his own and dances to the games of a court.”

The way he said Noldor King was not quite disdainful, but Elrond had seen his contempt for Galadriel. No doubt he had his reasons for his hard feelings towards those of that blood. As long as they didn’t interfere and cause a problem, he saw no reason to comment on it.

Odd they didn’t seem to extend to him though.

Elrond chuckled after a moment, shaking his head. This was not quite how he had thought the blonde would be when his memories returned. What had he expected? A typical noble? A warrior bent on vengeance and perhaps a place with a powerful king?

“I don’t covet power.”

Said so softly Elrond almost didn’t hear it. He turned a startled gaze on the other who was staring up at the sky, watching a hawk riding the wind. “What do you covet, Glorfindel?”

Slight sigh and a smile as he shook his head. “Nothing.” Turned a clear blue gaze that did more than anything to convince Elrond that he was sincere.

The sly smile, therefore, was a surprise. “Aside from a few trivial things like food, shelter…perhaps the company of a fair companion once in a while.”

The mirth in the other’s eyes was irrepressible and Elrond chuckled. “Certainly very attainable goals, those.” A sigh and his manner grew somber. “I cannot guarantee an easy path. It has never been as yet.”

Glorfindel gazed at him for a long moment, looking at him as though seeing a memory of something else, and his smile was surprisingly gentle. “We shall have to see about that, then, won’t we?” Another of those flashes of sudden humour. “My own has not been strewn with roses, but I’ve muddled along well enough.” Cocked his head. “I found it was always easier if I had a companion to distract me from my own broodings.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow, uncertain for a moment if the blonde was deliberately charming him, seeking something more than he was saying, or just making an innocent statement.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Glorfindel sighed dramatically, eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Keep corrupted maiar out of my path and I shall be content.”

Elrond nodded, his tone droll. “I shall endeavor to do my best, of course.” Chuckled as he glanced up at the sky. “From the looks of the sun I would say the archery tournament is not far at hand, and I am to help officiate. Would you care to accompany me?”

“Lead on.”

~*~*~


	9. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, re-embodied, returns to a land he had not thought to see again.

~*~*~

“Is that porcupine you claim as your betrothed competing?” Ramë ignored the frown shot at her for the comment, looking out at the field as those participating in the archery tournament filed onto the greens.

“No, Arantar is not.”

Grinning for the pointed correction, Ramë lounged back in her chair, playing with the fringes on her shawl. “When will I meet this elf who cozened Mandos into releasing him from imprisonment?” Shook her head. “I hadn’t realized getting burned to a crisp rated so high with the Valar these days.”

Bronwe closed her eyes, almost dreading the meeting of this outspoken friend and Glorfindel.

Bad enough when it was just Ramë and Arantar. At least he just glared, retreating to silence rather than giving more ammunition to the one-time courtesan.

Glorfindel was shaping up to be as outspoken as Ramë.

That was saying something.

“I’m not certain, actually. He was with Elrond this morning.”

Pursing a lip, gaze tracking a very familiar Elf Lord across the green, Ramë titled her head as she looked at his companion. “What does this slayer of the Balrog look like, Bron?”

“Tall as Elrond, built much like him, though not as broad. Hair is golden blonde to mid-shoulders. Blue eyes.”

Tapped a finger on the armrest of her chair. “Handsome?” Flipped a hand up. “As in eye-catching, even when surrounded by elves?”

Bronwe snorted, her attention on the archers warming up for the competition. “He certainly turns enough heads in the marketplace, yes.” Looked at her companion. “Why?”

“That him?” Gestured towards Elrond and the elf standing next to him.

“Yes.”

Ramë shook her head, turning to look at Bronwe. “He lived in your home how long and you did no more than hug him I suppose?”

Scowling even as her face pinked, Bronwe held up her right hand, a silver ring glinting in the sunlight. “I’m betrothed!”

A snort as her gaze went back to the field. “Some days I think you’re dead, Bron.”

Huffing, the healer crossed her arms and shook her head. “Faithfulness is not dead.”

“The one you’re faithful to is as inspiring to lust as mud on a horse.” Ignored the glare leveled on her and shook her head. “Don’t argue, Bron. You already admitted he’s your first and only.” Turned her head to arch an eyebrow. “Unless that’s changed?”

Bronwe rolled her eyes, fighting the colour flushing her face. “You’re impossible.”

“No,” Ramë sighed. “I didn’t think so. Pity.” Snorted as the assembled stood, clapping for the entrance of a dark-haired elf. “And here comes Gil- galad.” Remained seated even as Bronwe stood. “At least they’ll start now.”

Bronwe sat, giving her friend a long look. “You’re truly considering going to Lothlórien? Where Galadriel reigns as queen?” She knew the other elf had no great love for the seer.

Ramë nodded, slowly smiling like a well-satisfied feline. “Oh yes. I imagine you’ll hear her even here in this stuffy place.”

Sitting back, Bronwe chuckled. “To be a leaf on a Mallorn tree…”

“Hmm.” Ramë just smiled.

~*~*~

“Is he still telling that tale?” Ramë gave a sniff. “As if everyone hasn’t heard it at least five times.”

Elrond nodded. “He found a new audience in Glorfindel.”

“And you haven’t introduced me to him yet.” Arching an eyebrow, she picked up a goblet from a table and took a sip. “Not bad. Gil-galad is pulling out the best to impress again, hmm?”

A rather thoughtful look as Elrond watched Gil-galad claim Glorfindel again, taking his arm and leading him over to another group of nobles to introduce him. Offered a polite smile and bow for Elava, Gil-galad’s rather tightly- strung wife as she passed them. Looking not quite so sour as usual in the light of the full moon.

“Did you hear me?” Ramë tapped his arm with a feathered fan. Setting her goblet down she slipped an arm through his. “I might start to think you haven’t missed me.”

He turned to face her, lips curving slightly. “You know better.” Running a hand up her arm to cup her shoulder as she stepped closer, Elrond stopped to truly look at her and his smile deepened. “You went all out tonight, didn’t you?”

Dark hair long and flowing down her back, braided with threads of deep gold to honour both autumn season, and the Mallorn leaves of her soon-to-be new home. Her gown shimmered in the moonlight, the deep red reflecting threads of gold shot through. Somehow appearing both diaphanous when she moved while showing off the royal colour.

Lifting her hand to his lips, Elrond met her gaze as he placed a kiss first on the back of her hand, then the palm. “Your presence is as intoxicating as always, Ramë.”

“Are you implying I’m going to your head, Elrond?” Dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she smiled, slipping one hand slowly up his chest. Standing close enough for him to feel the heat of her body, smell the subtle scent of an exotic spice she had dabbed behind her ears.

Watched as the grey of his eyes was almost swallowed by the widening black of his pupil.

Still, he was the High King’s Herald for very good reasons. One of them the ability to deal gracefully with delicate situations and look indecently calm the entire time.

“Walk with me?” He indicated a deeply forested path with a nod of his head.

Arch smile as she graciously nodded. “And more…if you’re lucky.”

Elrond’s smile didn’t falter, but he was a bit quick in greeting a few Númenorean nobles as they passed.

Finally freeing herself from the paws of a Númenorean lord who had imbibed a bit too much of the mead, Bronwe caught sight of the pair sneaking off and chuckled. A quick look around showed Gil-galad still hanging onto Glorfindel’s arm, looking intent upon making sure every single member of court was introduced to him.

“You should rescue him, you know.”

She turned to find Círdan, bunch of grapes in one hand, mead in the other, watching his foster son. “Me? Why don’t you?” She picked a leaf from the long cuff of a sleeve, twirling in her fingers.

“And end up having my ears talked off by Gil-galad?” The mariner snorted, shaking his head, silver hair spilling over his shoulders. “He’s wound far too tightly tonight.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t break something then, eh?” She grinned, pursing a lip as she looked around, searching the many officers dressed in the dark blue and silver of their king for one elf. “Have you seen Arantar?”

Stuffing a grape in his mouth to keep from saying what immediately came to mind, Círdan shook his head. He swallowed the grape and nudged her with his elbow. “Go rescue the poor lad, Bron. He looks about ready to do something rash.”

Looking to where Glorfindel was being led to another group, this one of matrons and their young daughters, she chuckled. “He might like this group.”

“I never knew you to be cruel.”

She arched an eyebrow, caught the twinkle in his eyes and shook her head. “Look again. He’s flirting.”

Círdan chewed on another grape, grunting absently as Bronwe stole several of them. “Yes, but look. Gil-galad is leading him towards –“

He startled as Bronwe suddenly darted off, heading on an intercept course. “Those Noldor lords.” The mariner sighed. “He’s a good king, but he really has no idea truly how deep old wounds go.”

Watching as the healer almost appeared as if conjured before them, blocking their path. She smiled, speaking mostly to Gil-galad, but including Glorfindel in as well.

“That’s how its done.” Círdan nodded, chuckling to himself as Gil-galad left off the introductions to address whatever Bronwe was talking to him about. Frowned as he lifted his goblet to drink and realized it was empty. “Now that the crises is averted…” He went looking for one of the many elves roaming the clearing, bottles of mead in their hands.

She began to regret the impromptu rescue immediately. Fixing an interested look on her face as Gil-galad began to go on and on about Eregion and the work the stone smiths were doing there in conjunction with the Dwarves.

“The ithildin…have you seen it before, Glorfindel?” Gil-galad shook his head. “They were finishing one of the doors. Absolutely stunning.”

“That gleams in star or moonlight?” The blonde elf nodded, gazing impassively at the king.

Almost looking bored.

“Well…they actually came.” Gil-galad gave a nod to the two and turned on his heel, striding towards a group of Dwarves stomping into the clearing with suspicious frowns on their faces.

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow in silent commentary, and looked around. Nodded to one of the nobles who passed. “Have you seen Elrond?”

She stared at him for a moment. Who was this? This could not be the same elf who had repaired nets with Círdan and laughed so hard at the gather. He was… distant. Polite, but as if from a higher plane than anyone else.

Licking her lips, she shook her head. “No.”

“Hmm…” Almost dismissively turned away, scanning the crowds in the clearing.

Bronwe took a step back, then froze as he turned again, not quite able to control the flinch as he frowned. “What? Is something wrong?”

Gathered her dignity around her like a cloak and raised her chin. “No.” She gestured to the hall. “Look in the ballroom. He might be in there.” Held her ground as he continued to gaze at her.

"Where is Arantar?"

She sighed, frowning at the ground. "I don't know."

Subduing a frown, Glorfindel suddenly smiled. Holding out an arm, he offered, “Accompany me? It could be he's in the main hall."

"Maybe." Unbalanced, a bit wary of this new persona, Bronwe lightly set her hand on his arm, falling into step with him.

He moved through the crowd as though he’d been at court for decades. Nodding to one of the Númenorean Lords as the man approached as if to stop him. Polite bow, even as he neatly stepped to block Bronwe from the man. “Pardon, milord, but I am on a bit of an errand.” Disarming smile that the human responded to without even thinking and they were on their way again.

He ushered her through the arched entry before him, and she hesitated. The huge assembly room was crowded, full of elves, dwarves, men. Even several halflings. All talking, filling the room with the hum of conversation.

It was a relief to spot Elrond and Ramë just entering from the opposite side. Bronwe tapped Glorfindel’s shoulder and gestured.

Ramë arched an eyebrow as they walked up, teasing smile curling her lips. “Bronwe, does your betrothed know about this?”

The flush that heated the healers face was interesting even as she frowned.

“I’ve been looking for him.” Bronwe pursed a lip and searched the crowd. She vaguely heard Elrond introducing Ramë to Glorfindel. Spotting Gil-galad heading their way she groaned. “Oh no.”

“Found Aran, eh?” Ramë smiled pertly as the healer pointedly ignored her.

“Glorfindel I –“ Gil-galad glanced around the circle, caught sight of Ramë’s gown, which under the diffusive moonlight had been demure enough.

In the light of torches however, it rippled as she moved, at times appearing almost translucent. Giving a glimpse of the lithe form beneath the cloth.

The King blinked, his face turning rather ruddy as he met Ramë’s gaze.

She arched an eyebrow, smiling as she moved to set her goblet down.

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow as well, but merely smiled. Politely appreciative.

Clearing his throat, Gil-galad began again, pointedly not looking Ramë’s direction. “Glorfindel, there are several –“

“Bronwe!”

A young elf ran up, pushing past several nobles, stumbling forward to grab the healer’s arm. “You have to come now! Quickly! Naneth is bleeding all over and Ada doesn’t know what to do!”

Slipping an arm around the distraught child’s shoulders Bronwe shook her head as Elrond stepped forward. “I’m coming now, Lossë.” Taking the child’s hand, she grabbed up the skirt of her gown in her other hand and ran back the way the girl had come.

Elrond frowned, pursing a lip, but turned his attention back to the remaining group.

Gil-galad shook his head, grimacing. Child bearing was a messy business. “Do you suppose…” Shrugged one shoulder. “That they’ll need help?”

Ramë snorted. “Are you volunteering?” Tossing her head as Elrond met her gaze.

“No.” The king frowned, looking away from Ramë. They had never truly gotten along, even when she was still in his court. She was far too outspoken and fond of berating his opinion in public. “Glorfindel, if you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to Thranduil and Oropher.”

Glorfindel shot a glance at Elrond who nodded. Bowing to Ramë, he turned and followed Gil-galad.

Waiting until he was out of earshot, Ramë snorted. “Thranduil. Of course he’s here.” She turned to look at Elrond, sighing at his brooding air. “Are you going to help Bron?”

“No.” He shook his head, frown furrowing his brow. “Bronwe cautioned Meriel against having another child. The last one was almost too much for her.”

Ramë slipped her hand through his arm. “Come, walk with me through the gardens. It’s too stuffy in here and if one more of those Númenoreans stares at me…”

Elrond accepted the distraction, smiling for the beauty offering it to him. “No scenes, Ra. I don’t think Gil-galad’s composure can take another beating tonight.”

“Oh…fine.” With a grin and a sinuous wiggle that got more than one noble in trouble for noticing, Ramë strolled out into the moonlight.

~*~*~

Finally escaping Gil-galad's overly attentive handling, Glorfindel took a moment to simply stand in a quiet grotto and observe. Standing near a gently splashing fountain, he swirled the wine in his goblet, pursing a lip in thought.

Being center of attention had never been a problem. The middle of three children, he had been the one who sought the most laughs, the most hugs. Insecurity had never even really crossed his thoughts.

Not then, and not now.

Having people try to use him to an advantage though, that annoyed him. Nor was he fond of those who complimented simply to gain a better place in court.

Sincerity was a rare commodity in a royal court, as was honesty. He'd been known as a flirt, skilled at flattery. Any who knew him long enough knew he could also be horribly blunt, almost seeming callous.

He was honest, even if it meant offending someone who insisted upon his opinion.

Looking up to gaze at the moon, he sighed. So many changes and yet Elves themselves were still basically the same. As were Men and Dwarves.

"Bloody stars of Varda, I must be truly pished out of my gourd to see this..."

Glorfindel whirled at the whispered voice, eyes narrowing at the Elf staring at him with huge, owlish eyes. A devious smile curved his mouth and he raised his chin. "Gildor Inglorian, wastrel and prolifigate, what have you to say for yourself?"

Blinking, dropping the full goblet of wine, heedless of it spilling on the grass, Gildor took a step forward. "Glor... is it really you, old mate? Or have I mistakenly kicked off and been played victim to a nosh whim of Mandos?" He sighed, bowing his head, raven hair spilling forward to curtain his face. "Surely I'm dead, and a sodding arse at that."

It started as a chuckle, but Glorfindel couldn't help the laugh that started low, throwing his head back. "Gildor, you old prat!"

"Glor?"

"In the flesh." A roguish grin lit his eyes as he spread his arms. "Again."

"Glorfindel!" Gildor bounded forward, tackling the blonde, knocking both of them into the fountain with a splash of water.

Laughing like idiots sitting in the shallow pool, the two grinned at each other.

Long-time friends, and co-conspirators in many hijinks that had landed them in trouble more often than not.

And of a few other affiliations that were well left out of most annals of history. "I can't..." Gildor grabbed Glorfindel's face between his hands, leaning forward to plant a hearty kiss on his lips before drawing back for a cracked laugh. He sat up a little, fountain water ending just below his waist, even as he slapped the thigh next to him. "I should've known you'd connive Mandos into releasing you back!"

A glint of mischief, the now soaked layers of clothes and drag of his thoroughly wet hair only inspiring him more, glittered in Vanyar eyes. "Not quite like you might think to beg out, wily dog."

"But to welcome old friends back?"

Glorfindel chuckled low in his throat, and shoved the Exile backwards into the fountain with a resounding splash. Then, waiting a moment, he dived in after.

"Why doesn't it surprise me to see that they know each other?" Ramë chuckled, leaning against her escort, slanting him a smile as they stood back and watched the two Elves tussle like cats in the water. "You're in for trouble, Elrond."

"Oh..." He smiled, shaking his head in amusement, ignoring her own wandering hands. "I already gathered that."

~*~*~

Wrinkling his nose for the squishing noise his boots made, Glorfindel stopped, bending to yank them off and dump the water out of them.

Gildor snickered, shaking his head. Still amazed, reaching out to touch the blonde's arm again to be certain it was real and not some drunken imagining. "Here." Grabbing the very solid arm, he pulled the blonde after him. "A nice quiet place to catch up, eh?"

Allowing himself to be towed along, Glorfindel ducked through the long, trailing willow branches, almost running into Gildor as he stopped suddenly.

A blonde eyebrow rose as Gildor turned to stand a hand's width apart, staring at him. They were of a height, one light, one dark. Both with a quirky sense of humour and a disdain for the common opinion.

Glorfindel smiled as the dark blue gaze remained glued on him. Waiting out the shock, mildly amused and showing it openly. It wasn't often Gildor Inglorian was caught speechless.

"You died. I saw it. Watched you..." Gildor grimaced, trying to forget the sight of a friend burned beyond recognition, tumbling off the pass, to fall with the Balrog. "Thorondor carried your body up. Did ye know that?"

"No." Glorfindel closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "I always did like them."

Gildor nodded, smiling again. He'd never been overly fond of the 'squab' himself, but the blonde had climbed the peaks many times to visit the Great Eagles. "They wrote some of the worst bloody songs I've ever heard..." He laughed, looking up, shaking his head. Silent for a long moment before looking to him again, fond smile curving his mouth. "You definitely left an impression."

"Of course!" Glorfindel preened playfully, trying to distract his friend from the overly somber memories.

Snorting, the raven haired elf poked a finger into the other's chest. "So, yer back. No scars, no curses from the Valar tainting the body?"

He shook his head, grinning. "None."

"Got off clean an' free, did ye?" Gildor's eyes narrowed at the telling hesitation. "Glor?" He stepped closer, lifting a hand to grasp the back of the blonde's neck. Frowning as a shudder ran through the body. "Glorfindel -"

Eyes closed, he shook his head. "It's all just...new." A hoarse chuckle. "Rather overwhelming actually."

"Ye don't have to hide anything from me." Gildor snorted. "Remember me? Ever seen me offended by an honest desire?"

"Gildor..."

He shook his head, stepping closer. "Shut up, ye noff blonde." Close enough to touch. "Always did talk too much."

~*~*~

It happened, even to immortals.

Sometimes even apart from times of war. An elf died. After all, while they were resistant to disease and the weaknesses that plagued men, they weren’t omnipotent.

Where men mourned, buried their dead and moved on, it could be more difficult for elves. Death was not common to them.

For a healer, one used to treating wounds, stitching up children, tending to the odd ills and births of a community, the death of a patient was devastating.

Especially for her to die giving birth.

Giving life.

Bronwe sat on the pier, arms wrapped around her legs, and just stared. Stared at the west as if she could trace the path of Meriel’s fea to Mandos’ keeping.

Círdan found her sitting there as he took his morning stroll to the shipyards. Startled to find anyone out before him. The festival had gone well into the morning hours, some just taking to their rest.

“Did you come out here to watch the sunrise with your old…” Círdan’s jovial manner dropped as he saw her gown and arms, her hands, covered in blood.

Dried blood.

“Bron.” He knelt. “What…”

She stared ahead, grey eyes unfocused. “She’s dead. Just…” Furrowed her forehead and tilted her head a bit. “…the baby was turned wrong. We were trying to delay her contractions, to turn the baby.” Blew out a breath in a puff of steam. “The blood. So much blood. I couldn’t stop it and…she wasn’t listening to anything, wouldn’t….”

He clasped her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bron.” Cleared his thoat. This was not his arena. At all. “The babe?”

Grimacing, she rested her head on her knees. “I took him from his mother after….” Voice muffled as she pressed her face against her knees. “He’s fine. Healthy.”

What should he do? Leave her here? If she started crying… Círdan stroked a hand down his beard, looking around for another person. Gestured over one of his workers. “Go fetch Elrond-“

“No!” Bronwe uncurled, rolling to her knees. “No,” she repeated, calmer, seeing how she’d startled Círdan. “I’m…” Rose to her feet, pressing her hands together and grimacing. “I’m going home.”

“Bronwe…”

She shook her head, and slipped past.

Leaving him frowning, watching until she left the docks, heading up the shore.

~*~*~

"Moving again, hmm?" Círdan watched the blonde gather his belongings. "Keep this up and I'll believe it when Gildor tells me you're thinking of joining that insane lot of Exiles."

Glorfindel chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing so extreme." He straightened. "Just taking quarters in the East Wing of the Palace."

Silver hair slithered down a shoulder as Círdan nodded. "Back to the court life."

"Yes."

"Though I think you're as fond of it as Elrond." He shook his head.

"It's a game I'm quite familiar with." Smiling, the blonde looked around the room. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"Any time, Glor." Círdan chuckled. "And if you get a yearning to mend nets instead of casting snares in court...come see me."

Clasping forearms with the older elf, Glorfindel nodded. "I will." He picked up his bag and nodded, pausing in the doorway. "Or if I have a yearning for mead?"

The rather hopeful expression made Círdan laugh. "Yes, you scamp! Go on now, or I'll never be rid of you."

A bow and he was gone.

~*~*~

"...this then is the dangerous adventure most of the time."

Glorfindel grinned at the dry tone of voice, looking around the room full of books stacked on tables, shelves of books and desks with quills and ink. "The shelves are unstable?"

Chuckling, Elrond gestured for him to follow. "Not that I know of, but it seems I spend more time these days standing nearby as Gil-galad holds open court." He sighed, looking around. "Not exactly my first choice."

"You did understand the job of a herald before accepting?"

Droll smile. "Yes, but this king is overly fond of holding audience with any human or dwarf who enters town." Elrond frowned. "And there are secrets here that would yield information about our enemy. I know it. I simply don't have the time anymore to research."

Glorfindel nodded. "Tell me what I can do to free up some of your time then." He met the darker blue eyes, smiling slightly at the surprised expression there. "That is what I do, right?"

"Yes." Elrond's nod was slow. Thoughtful. "Among other duties to the court, but yes."

"Then, milord, I suggest we get to it." Glorfindel grinned, eyes twinkling. "I would not have it said I wasted my second life."

"Nor would I!" Elrond brought over a thick sheaf of papers. "You do read Quenyan?" At a nod, he patted the dusty stack, grinning. "Have at it."

Sitting, Glorfindel paused to draw in a deep breath and look around. No, nothing like his first life.

Nothing at all.

It looked to be a good one.

~*~*~


End file.
